Blorble

sometimes i regret naming my wolves such dumb things because why am i writing something serious about a dog named fucking blorble


SpoilerHis fur was grey.

The realisation had startled him, as he sorted through his piles of herbs and medicines. It had been grey for a while now. It was rather silly, to feel so surprised. Everybody got old. Everybody went grey-haired eventually, no matter what. It was one of the few constants in this world.

But still, it threw him off.

Blorble had never thought that he would have the priviledge of feeling old, but here he was, grey-haired and every bit the grumpy old man he had always complained about in his youth. The thought gave him a warm feeling in his chest.

He had served his pack for many years and as he nudged the last of his supplies into their places, he thought that maybe it was time for a break. The cracking and popping of his joints as he stood up only solidified his decision.

Blorble nosed his way out the herbalist den, padding out into the clearing. Members of the pack, old and new faces alike, greeted him with wagging tails and bright eyes. The old, grey wolf plopped himself down in a patch where the sun shined through the trees. For a few moments he just looked at them all.

To be met with faces filled with so much adoration and love was more than he had ever hoped for. He had never intended to become an herbalist, let alone join the rag-tag group of wolves he had stumbled upon in the forest all those years ago, but now he realised it was probably the best decision he had ever made. Nowhere else would he end up being as loved as he was right now.

Blorble was the first herbalist the Blackberries Pack had ever had, but he would not be the last. He sighed softly, eyes drifting from across the clearing and landing on a certain pink-furred wolf.

As the sun shone down on his grey fur and aching bones, he knew it was time to pass on the torch. He would be cared for, just as he had cared for everyone else for so many years.