Under the prickly shelter of a thorn bush, a tiny werewolf lay curled up, his dark fur drenched and clinging to his small frame. His golden eyes, usually so fierce, were now dim and wary, glancing out at the cold, wet world around him.

The rain beat down on his pelt, each drop heavy and biting, yet he barely flinched. Alone and shivering, he huddled deeper into the thorny shadows, his once-brave heart weighed down with the silence his pack had left behind.