It wasn't enough that the young boy had lost his mother, his siblings had also disappeared. He was beginning to growl and snap at the new faces he often ran into, though this was more of a fearful display. His tutelage under the white male Eric had taught the boy the basics of hunting, though there were not enough mice in winter to keep him as fit as he would like. It isn't for a lack of trying, it is just that the rabbits can run atop the snow and he is forced to plow through it. On and on the list of complaints went, his utter lack for anything by way of nurture having shown on his gilded face. Alas, the young boy does not wish to be a wolf constantly on the foot, he would like to see stability, at least in his younger years. Only nine months since he entered the world and already the boy is sick to death of being alone.

He has been forced to grow up at an exponential rate, though his mentor does allow him to relax every now and then. It isn't often, and then the male is pushing him back to his paws, telling him too much rest will only slow him down. At first it had been difficult to keep pushing, but eventually, Acanthus found himself able, and a new lean fit to his musculature. He likes the training, though he would rather have received it from his mother, the ilk of her blessed bones long forgotten, just as she had forgotten him. Silver and chocolate frame moves forward, ears moving about as he listens for life in the leaf-less depths of the forest. Strong odors pass through his nose, and he stops, picking through the jumble of smells, realizing that this was much better than the scent of his decaying corpse. He whimpered, not knowing if pack wolves were different about their patches of land. Lowering himself to the ground, the pup shivers, a winter storm drifting closer and closer as he waits. Finally, at a stroke of lightning in the distance, the little boy cries out in a long and loud, shrill and off-key howl, he panics and bolts to the nearest thicket, curling up and putting his paws over his ears, he keeps himself warm this way, hoping someone finds him soon.

”Talking” thinking

male ;; minor ;; not a lover ;; never mastered ;; homeless
son of Cayen & Kahlua; apprentice of no one
scream, scream, scream