Four years have passed since he was last seen.
He left nothing but tracks, and a snowdrifted scene.
He left in the night, the shame was too much.
He fights the urge to return, to give in and give up.
His pelt is bitten by the wind, his back scarred by ice.
The mutt has passed out not once, but thrice.
He felt shame, and hate, and ran away.
Even after he was begged to stay.
He sees the random stranger, and confuses them for his own.
But the face is then to him shown.
"This can't be!" He gasps
"You're not my Rosie...."
And then he travels further, age biting at his mind.
He's gone insane, left himself behind.
Balto travels in a pack of his own,
Refusing to return back home.