Morrow

A terrible sickness ran through Morrow's pack when he was a half-grown pup, bringing with it blindness and death. His littermates writhing and whimpering around him, the terrified Morrow hurtled into the darkness of the woods. He crawled back out three days later and crept through the pack, ears pressed flatter than a river rock and tail shaking between his legs. A single heartwrenching howl to the gray sky spelled out his tale; all were dead. The next few weeks were a trial on the pup. Not yet old enough to fend for himself, he made do with the leavings of more adept hunters and relied on his cleverness to not become a meal himself. At last a white pup just about his size sniffed him out half-starved beside a lake. Morrow wagged his tail and whimpered; Mist wagged hers back and brought him home to her mother. Since that day, Morrow has been devoted to the self-assured wolf who saved his life.