Gray Meadow

The song of the Nightingale is so beautiful, isn't it?

Isn't it, Greely? Is the song of the Nightingale worth hearing? Many think he would answer no...but would he, though?

It was a snowy, bleak and dark december night, a corpse was curled around children. That of a gray-colored wolf. An oil-fueled lanthorn seemed to barely lighten her pale, expressionless face. A blue-colored wolf was staring at the corpse, surrounding three weak-looking children. He stared at the meadow around him.

He then picked out the tiny pup that looked most like him. "Your name will be Greely. Your name means Gray Meadow, y'know? Your mother was gray, and you were born in a meadow..." The wolf said, holding back sobs. The pup was strangely silent compared to the very distressed children aside from him. "Greel...Greely?" The father was sobbing as the little pup stared at the other pups, who once wriggled and seemed terrified, had gone limp.

Wip efuheuh