Firefly Glen the fireflies, our only light in paradise

The evening had crept upon Gawain sneakily, like a silent assailant on his journey. Though the young wolf had tried to make the most productive use of daylight as he could've, he couldn't help feeling like an utter failure. It seemed as though each time the yearling thought he was gaining some ground, getting a sense of what direction they hould be headed in, he found himself questioning and undermining his own logic, just as lost as he had begun. It was his neurosis honestly, how could he trust himself to lead Mauri, to care for her if he couldn't even trust himself to make good decisions on his own behalf. Every minute slipped away from him as Gawain attempted to get a start on his path, and now night had come once again, forcing him to seek shelter, as he was unlikely to get anywhere in the dark when he was so unfamiliar with his surroundings. 

It was as he began to sweep the area for good resting places that a soft sound hit his ears, high and breathy and hurting. Hairs prickled along his neck, the dark crown upon his throat fluffing out a bit as he became alert, drawing himself out of his self-loathing to locate where exactly the sound had come from. The flicker of lightbugs pulsed around him as Gawain padded through the field, his large paws treading surprisingly softly along the grass underfoot. 

It was when the masked wolf stepped over a lightly sloping crest in the glen that he spotted the figure. Draped in a bright white, the stranger stood out starkly against the dark of the night. They were small, and ragged, a creature who looked as though they'd been swept up in a storm. Though he couldn't see any particular wounds on them from the distance he stood, their tattered coat was enough for him to place unwellness. His mind flicked back to Mauri, on the bad days. The days where he wished he could've hidden her from the world and overcome his own cowardice long ago, protected her from every unjust mark that had appeared upon her body over the years. A shiver racked his mammoth shoulders where he stood and a deep breath was exhaled from his maw, but the yearling otherwise made no move to approach the stranger, to lost in his own thought and subconsciously afraid of spooking them to take any real action.