Snowforest Taiga a wandering soul Traveling a well worn road

Hunger drove him. Hunger - and if he'd been brave enough to admit it, that longing in the heart of every wolf for companionship, for company. Brecheliant held the last whispers of his voice. Sometimes, he had thought about talking to himself - but that would mean he had become crazy. And though he had long lost any signs of strength he'd once packed onto his rail-thin bones, he hadn't lost his mind. He still counted the stars. Still wished he could put more lights in the sky so papa could find his way down to him, like he'd done for mama and Bronte and Ponyboy and Killdeer.

When John nosed the food towards him, Boris first reached out with a long, careful sniff. Irresistible. But Boris knew better than to gobble it down so quick, else it'd come right back up. He took hold of the food with long teeth, drool sliding down his chin, and pulled it towards him so he could eat while still keeping a careful eye on John.

He'd said it was his. All of it, but Boris gave him an incredulous glance. All of it? his voice came, hoarse and lower than he'd remembered, and he flinched at the shock of hearing himself but not himself. Not himself. More like dad.

How long had been gone from Brecheliant?

He answered John's questions, if only to hear Bronco again. B-Boris, he offered, small and mumbled, and this time, very un-dad like. His heart fell. And as for home? I-I guess, he gave a shrug, I dunno... in mama's arms, in Bronte's laughs, in Ponyboy's mischief, in papa's voice, don't really know where it is, anymore.