Cavan

The wolf sauntered in, head and tail hung low. His spirits were even lower. His face was a bloody myriad of slash marks and his one good ear was torn and hanging listlessly at the side of his head. His clouded, dead eye added to this horric-looking face. Miserable and hurting, Cavan crawled over to the den and curled up next to it, sniffing at the ground a bit before drifting into sleep.