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The pack had their fill, casting Finbar off to the side. He was a stranger, and not an official member of their group; despite him having been the one to make the kill that now nourished their bellies, he was required to eat last. Sorley had comforted him, saying that he should be grateful because he was lucky he was allowed to eat at all, and to be patient with them.

Finbar’s stomach growled intensely; the day had been hard on him, for he was not used to that kind of exertion and stress. The whole situation was Jargoth had put him on edge, as well; he would need to stay protective and watchful over his little family going forward, for that wolf could not be trusted. He knew it in his bones.

The famished wolf-dog watched the feast, sitting a short distance away awaiting his turn to come. Willow could be seen eating, gaining vitamins and nutrients to produce quality mother’s milk for the pups. Seeing it made Finbar glad, a gentle contrast amidst his frustration. He had done it; the prey he had dragged home, the prey he had worked so hard to obtain, had fed his family.

‘Perhaps I should be happy with that and call it a day,’ he thought, his muscles beginning to relax from their tense state. He had not even realized how firm they had become. ‘I love her so much, and my children; isn’t taking care of them all I want? Yes. I feel happy.’

The Alpha Balto tore at the red flesh, eating his portion, snarling and biting at whoever dared go for it themselves. Whines and cries rang out, preceded and followed by roars and growls; dinnertime was a violent thing with the wolves, and it intimidated Finbar. Eating had never been so dramatic where he came from, so what drove them to act this way?

Furthermore, if Finbar was mostly part wolf, why did he not understand it?

Finally, when the wolves had finished eating and began to slink off to their dens to sleep for the night, Finbar carefully made his way forward.

Willow stayed behind to meet him, licking his face. “My love! How are you? I’m really sorry you couldn’t join us, especially when it was you that provided for us today. It’s just my dad, he has to uphold tradition.”

“I’m fine,” he responded, nuzzling her. “I’m just glad to rest.”

“Good. We can talk more once we are inside our den, I will go tend to our children. See you soon, Fin,” Willow said smiling, rushing off.

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Finbar began to eat the remnants of meat that were left behind for him, ravenously consuming everything he found that was soft. The fat tasted amazing, and so did the lean bits. After having survived on rabbits and other small animals, he had not realized how broken his body felt; perhaps going forward he would feel less stiff and more full of energy.

He was grateful for the moment alone. The quiet served to aid him in healing from the events of discourse over the last few days. His body relaxed, he sighed, and he ate while lying down on the soft, lush grass. The cool spring evening breeze ruffled his fur, allowing the heat to escape which had built up throughout the last twelve hours.

Out of the corner of his vision, the white wolf-dog saw someone coming. He turned and saw that they were not walking but instead crawling. “Are you alright?” he asked, concerned. Their hips seemed injured, and back legs paralyzed or at least rendered useless.

“Food…” the old she-wolf said, dragging herself closer to the carcass, hardly able to keep going.

Finbar’s heart was clasped with empathy and compassion, his chest hurting for the downed elder. He flattened his ears and took a deep breath; what he had to do in response was obvious. “What is your name?” the wolf-dog asked gently.

“Gill, sir,” she wheezed, then coughed. Her pelt was silver but very dirty; it likely would have shone more beautifully than Silvera’s had she been in her prime. Her face was full of scabs and her fur was matted. A stench came from her that was terrible, like dung. Gill likely had not been able to care for herself for a long time, and was covered in her own piss and feces.

‘Someone should help her,’ Finbar thought, a bit upset at her neglect, and surprised as well. Certainly a pack with this much honor should do the right thing and help her keep up on her hygiene? Her condition would lead to infection, eventually.

Finbar stood up, and moved toward Gill, grabbing her by the scruff and lifting her up off the ground, doing his best to ignore the smell which stung his poor nostrils. He dragged her right to the doe carcass, dropping her down carefully so as not to hurt her.

She looked up at him silently, confused and unsure.

“Eat,” Finbar smiled kindly. “You need it more than I do.”

“Are you sure?” Gill trembled nervously. “We elders eat last. The Alpha might be upset with me.”

“If he has a problem, tell him that Finbar insisted you do it,” he said, rubbing her head with his paw. “You matter. Now eat, get your strength up.”

Gill’s meek face was turned to joy, as if she were a small pup again allowed to play outside her nursing den for the first time unsupervised. The old silver she-wolf wasted no time and began to dig in, eating what she could chew; many of her teeth were gone by now, so it was hard to chew such tough flesh, but she managed and was not in a rush.

Finbar left her to enjoy her meal, and went to his mate’s cozy den to lay down with them. His pups were rambunctious, even if they could barely coordinate themselves or use their sense of vision. Ashen, his only son, was the worst offender; whenever Finbar would go to lick or sniff him, he would nip. A ferocious little one, he was; he had probably inherited Willow’s fiery temper.

Moonlily and Sugarloaf were more laid back, preferring to be gentle and snuggle if they weren’t napping.

“I’m proud of you, I heard you did great today,” Willow mumbled warmly into his fur as they cuddled.

“You are what drives me to be better,” Finbar whispered. “You, and these weeds.”