Bitterroot Valley ✢ Natural blood-stained blond

— the wind gnaws at his ribs. his coat is thinner than it should be, torn at the hips, ragged from travel. his paws are cracked, raw from frost. but he stands firm.

the cold only feeds him. he was raised in it. raised by wolves who loved war.

sky huffs.

i not here... his ears cant backwards as he struggles to piece the words together. challenge?

he’s too thin to fight a full-grown buck but likewise too proud to run if this man comes for him.