Alone

What is a wolf without a pack?

No... not the loner who has so confidently struck out on his own, braving odds just to survive, in the hopes of building a new pack.

This... this is the animal who had belonged, but slowly saw it's family leave. Where once there was many, but the ranks grew thin. Whose den is no longer warm and welcoming as it once was. No more excited greetings -those licks at the chin- when returning home, no more shoulders to rub against in solidarity.

And when the pack grew smaller still, until only a few remained. And even they eventually left. Then there were only two; but a pack cannot be two wolves.

And eventually the last one left, padding away in the thick snow, hoping for more.

The den is cold and empty now. There is no protection from the elements as the wolf curls upon itself to stave off the chill. Another day, another empty stomach; wolves don't hunt well alone.

Nights are sleepless. The days... long and silent.

The pack scents fade, the last reminder that the wolf hadn't always been alone. And as he does every night, he howls into the empty dark, aiming his voice towards the stars. Always, always hoping for a reply. But as every time before, his cries go unanswered.

And eventually he grows weak.

And tired.

And stops howling.

And nothing can bring him to his feet again.

And so he tucks his nose against his feet one last time, remembering how this hollow, cold, and silent den had once been filled with warmth and the chattering of pups and family and playful scuffles. It's his last thought, as he drifts into a final sleep. A beautiful, terrible memory.

Because what is a wolf without a pack?

Condemned.