They Call Me Back, but I Was Gone
Two years ago, as a graduate of Werewolf Medical School, I volunteered to go to the most remote and poorest pack, as it had always been my dream to help werewolf patients in need. I heard from my teacher that the werewolves in the Rogue Pack were the poorest and that their living conditions were the worst. Most of the werewolves there were old and weak, so I volunteered to go to that pack as soon as I graduated.
After I arrived, I helped them build an infirmary and even set up a blood station. Every year, I led them in voluntary blood donations.
But one time—right after I had taken a short break following a blood donation—they turned on me.
They slandered me, calling me a selfish and heartle