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Joel is a wolf.
Wolf packs are a family, but Joel has no blood family, so he chooses his own.
First he chose wolves, wild and animal. The howling of hounds became his warning before war, an entrance before you see him. No one could touch him, his pack surrounding him entirely in a circle of teeth and fur. Though others called him the pack leader, and he himself called him the king of wolves, he was just as wolf as the rest of them. Fighting with gnashing jaws, slashing claws and the will to die for his family. Joel was no leader, he was just the only wolf the others could understand. He didn’t want to be a leader either, he’d rather die for his family or live to sleep in the safety of their warmth. The wolves would die for him, and he’d die for the wolves right back. Family falls for family, and his blood would pool with theirs when they lost, the same shade of red.
Second he chose Scar, kind with a dormant bloodthirst. Brothers in not their own blood, but the blood of those they fought together. Except Scar was no wolf, no, he was not wild like Joel. And when he was free to bare his fangs, Scar abandoned him like he would a bad dog. Joel nuzzled the hand that fed him, only to be slapped away as if he’d bitten it. He was a wolf with no pack, a dog with no master. Even when Grian took Scar’s place, Joel hesitated to allow him. What if Grian too ran from his teeth, instead of standing behind them?
But he didn’t. Grian stood beside him until he died for Joel, and he didn’t care it was in vain. They fought together and they lost together, like family does.
Third he chose Etho, calm and clever. Joel knew, even if they were soulbound, he didn’t need Etho, and Etho didn’t need him. And that considered, Etho was no wolf, it was apparent from the start. He was a fox, his only intent to have fun, even if it killed him. Etho would never be loyal in the way Joel was, but still, a fox is a canine, isn’t it? Claws, teeth and wild, they were similar enough to be family. Besides, family isn’t what you are, it’s who you care for. And when Joel turned to Etho, fire and lava encasing their bodies, Etho reached out and held his hand. The soft skin of a human holding his bloody paw before they burned.
Etho wasn’t a wolf, but still, his smoke rose with Joel’s.
Fourth he didn’t choose. Jimmy, with the fragility of a songbird, chose Joel himself. He didn’t realize it at first, until Jimmy pushed his old ally away to follow Joel into the woods. Joel had never been chosen as a packmate before, and he supposed Jimmy didn’t see it that way, but Joel did. And when Jimmy put a head on his head, his fingers running through his hair, Joel knew he would die for him. And when Grian joined the pack, Joel knew he would die for him too. Joel hadn’t slept since his first pack, but when Grian and Jimmy put together a nest, Joel was again in the middle of his pack, his family.
And in that moment, he realized, he lived to sleep in the safety of their warmth.