
He spent most his days tending to the elderly or mothers waiting to have their pups. He was a caregiver, and he liked it that way. Most wolves that needed his assistance and accepted it didn't have room for pride, didn't have room to yell at him for trying to help. Not that anyone in this pack would do that anyway, but he was predisposed to think he was useless and his help was getting in the way. It was always a relief when he could fetch some food or water for a wolf in need and not worry about being scolded for doing who knows what wrong.
Some days, though, he found a little time for himself, some time to sit in the corner of the wolves resting area and pick little twigs and thorns out of his pelt. Right now it seems that's just what he found time to do as he shook his head, pawing at his ear and trying to get a particularly stubborn little thorn off. Oh, why was this so difficult?! He couldn't even tell where it was because of how it was stuck in his fur but not touching his head. Ack! He flailed around where he sat, shaking his head around and letting his ears flap. It was.. absolutely pathetic, if not a little funny.
Poor thing, how'd he even survive out here this long?