Only the Strongest Survive (Planning page)

A motley pack has formed of City Dogs, Wild Dogs, Leashed Dogs, and Fierce Dogs alike. All is going well—as good as it goes in a such a shaken world—until the remains of the dead Longpaws have seemingly run into the nearby river, befouling the main water source of the vicinity. Prey that drinks from this river has perished in great quantities, and the dogs are forced to barter for prey with packs living near cleaner water, much to the disdain of either side. The other packs retaliate fiercely in absolute disagreement, and next time a messenger is sent to scrounge for food, the dogs find that the other packs are no longer there, having assumedly migrated.
The dogs' world takes a nosedive thereon, prompting many to rebel and start a new pack of their own, called the Hellions. The remainder is weakened and confused, further decimated by multiple ambushes by the desperate, hungry Hellions. A closer look and the remainder of the old pack finds that the Hellions have teamed up with a small gang of the remaining Longpaws—evil ones, they soon find, when a Leashed Dog tries to approach them when the Hellions aren't around. The Hellions are being forced to fight with these Longpaws against rivaling Longpaw groups, scarily enough, and the dogs cannot tell if willingly or if out of fear. Now the dogs are forced to make a choice—ally with the wrongdoing Hellions, enslaved to the will of the evil Longpaws, as well, or go on a wild goose-chase searching for their near-rivals, the packs with whom they bartered before?

I don't feel like I highlighted the despair of this event well enough in that summary. Well, the dogs are starving to near-death, and their pride goes down the drain when they even entertain the idea of going to another pack for help—it's so unnatural. Fast forward only days, and after trying and trying for days, their honor shattered, to coax food from their natural rivals, they're turned against by their own kind. Imagine how terrible. And imagine their faces when they see for the first time that the Hellions have allied with Longpaws. The Leashed and Fierce Dogs are naturally happy, but the rest are skeptical—these Longpaws look even eviler than their successors. And sure enough, this is proven true. Imagine how outright traumatized you would feel.
At this point, the dogs are desperate, their very pride and honor having withered—and I mean withered. Hell, dissolved—like a dying rose. In a last desperate effort, they shakily return to their neighbors, knowing that their messenger, so weak and so frail, is likely to be ambushed. Imagine how absolutely awful it is when they find out that their last hope is gone.
Then they're left with two choices, both terrible: Go to the Longpaws, who will feed them—or maybe even kill them?—or, weak though they are, go and find the packs that know them to be so weak and so ignoble. Jarring. Both choices seem entirely pointless, and for them, hope has run dry.