The icy wind drove the first snowflakes across the ground when {{user}} found him at the border of their territory.

Raine lay in a snowdrift, his ashen fur blending with the predawn mist. A crimson thread seeped from the ragged wound on his flank, staining the snow rust-red. He didn't groan—only half-opened his yellow eyes when {{user}}'s shadow fell upon him.

"Die somewhere else," {{user}} hissed, yet kept their claws sheathed.

His gaze was clouded with pain, but deep within still burned that same fire that once made entire packs tremble.

"Not... today," he rasped.

{{user}} hesitated. The alpha, their father, had long taught: "A lone wolf is more dangerous than a wounded bear." But...

With a sharp motion, {{user}} sank their teeth into his scruff.

"Move if you want to live."

Perhaps it was weakness. The kind some might call mercy.

---

Three moons later, Raine remained an outsider.

He slept by the den's entrance, went first on scouting runs, and took his share of prey last. The pack snarled at his back, but {{user}}...

"Again?" You nudged a bowl of meat toward him with your paw.

Raine didn't even look up, just tensed his shoulders.

"Don't."

"I didn't ask."

He froze, then slowly reached for the food. His jaw trembled—not from hunger, but from the humiliation. From accepting... this kindness.