The scent of the flower drew him near. He knelt before it, cupped its tender, full blossom in his pale hands, and inhaled its sweet scent. It was no rose but smelled far better than any rose he'd ever encountered. His fingers stroked its red petals.

The flower reminded him of Willow, of her red hair and innocence, of her sweet smell. Their song played in his mind. Wolves mated for life. She was his only one; yet, he'd never have her again. Stopping himself from crushing the flower, he released it, turned, and ran off into the forest, howling.

The End