Hathor watched the river gurgling in front of her, her head held as high as she was able to bring it. She stood with dignity, although misery and loss clung to her like a cloak. Her crown radiates her love and calmness, the sadness lingering in her eyes conflicting it. She hated the fact that the only thing she had to show for her lost pups were her still swollen teats; her milk hadn't dried up yet, and it was a cruel reminder that she had nothing now.

She sat down on the opposite side of the river, not wanting to intrude on packlands without an invitation. The melanistic wolf raised her head and gave a sweet howl of love and loss, comfort and pain, asking for a new home to start over.