Podzol

While patrolling your territory borders in the night, you heard an ominous growl. The source of the growl revealed a terrible sight. A wolf from a nearby rival pack was holding a pup's corpse in its mouth. After a series of alerting growls and barks, the wolf stalked away hidden in shadows, leaving the pup's body behind. Upon investigation, you realize the corpse belonged to the young New Puppy, now cold and lifeless. What a horror.

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It is customary to those whispers within the winds to educate their children, from the moment they take their first steps, that the mists are what protect and shield them. Their territories eternally cloaked in the obscuring fog that works as well as any wall, as they are the only ones who have learned to traverse them — and used that advantage to deadly effect when dealing with intruders.

They do not name their pups, for the wilds are dangerous and the nights long.

Yet in spite of this, there was one that Mistral had allowed himself some small amount of fondness for. A quick student, ever bright eyed and eager to learn — child of a scout with the same wanderlust. His quick paws would have made him a skilled chaser, the nimbleness in those brilliant eyes to never leave their mark. But, it was simply not to be. Attaching one's self to a pup in these lands is always met with heartache.

The wolf that slunk away from Mistral's rage was met with the snapping jaws of Glim lurking in the dark — the finisher enraged at the loss of a promising addition to the hunting team, more than happy to seize the invader's throat betwixt his fangs and shake him as if he was nothing more than a rat. Anger and vengeance would not bring the pup back, but it would at least cause their frequent enemy grief in the loss of a healthy adult.

The pup was buried 'neath the moon, given the name of Podzol for both scent and coat.