Butterball

if you were to ask him — which most do not — he would say that being in a pack was a hassle.

this is not entirely true.

he doesn’t like being at someone else’s beck and call, but that’s not what he is.  he listens to orders from a select few, from the ones who he knows has power over him and are unafraid to exercise it, and he can respect that.

he doesn’t like sleeping in cramped spaces, but his cave isn’t that.  him and his wife share one of the biggests nests the den has, though most of the space goes unused — it’d be wrong not to cuddle with his wife if she’s right there, after all.

he doesn’t like the wailing of pups, but the ones him and his wife brought into the world are far more tolerable.  his granddaughter’s are alright, too, even if there’s only one in her first litter that might be blessed enough to be allowed to stay, and he doesn’t know if he’ll live long enough to see for himself if he will be.

he doesn’t like other wolves.  at least, he thought so.  until he met the wolf that would become his wife, at least.

and he learns that he doesn’t like losing wolves when it’s already too late — he’s one of the only remaining chosen wolves, collected by the first leader herself, after all.

but he’s never been known for telling the whole truth, so he says it anyways.