This was maybe a bit self-destructive. Malachai knew somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, that he should have asked for help, for backup, but Malachai was frankly nothing if not stubborn and self-assured. Or well, usually he was. Less so as of late. It was a combination of things, first the pressure he'd felt to keep up with Grim, then the loss of his tail tip in the raid, and the feeling as of late that there was a distance widening between himself and Grimshaw. That was probably just in his mind, but it felt real enough to him. He wasn't sure if it was his fault, it probably was. It left the man feeling desperate but he was frankly not smart enough to even begin putting his feelings into words. Malachai only really knew two things, and well he wasn't interested in doing the second one with anyone but Grim... So fighting it was. He'd caught word that a pack of coyotes had been seen lurking nearby, though they seemed smart enough so far to avoid the pack of wolves themselves. And so here Malachai was. He wasn't exactly being stealthy, that probably wasn't even a word in his vocabulary. He was practically stomping his way through the forest, alert for any sign of the coyotes but otherwise unconcerned with being spotted. It might have worked in his favor, as a single coyote appeared before him, its maw slavering and a sort of wild hunger to its eyes. As far as Malachai was concerned the fact it seemed to think it could take him on was foolish. They stared each other down for a moment before Malachai burst towards the coyote, who gave a reedy bark but wasn't able to escape his jaws in time, teeth finding the side of its neck. And that probably would have been it, he needed only to re-adjust his grip and he'd crush the things windpipe. But somehow in the rush of it all Malachai had forgotten an important aspect of all this. It was a pack of coyotes. The first one had been bait. And he'd fallen for it hook line and sinker. Teeth latched onto his form, his legs, a few trying to leap up and grab the back of his neck though he towered over them so his shoulders got pretty badly bitten instead. One of the coyotes had gotten their fangs into the scarred flesh on his leg and the man couldn't help roaring in pain as the more sensitive flesh was torn, his grip on the first coyote released. It skittered away, blood dripping from its neck. Malachai thrashed, tossing his head and trying to grab any of the coyotes near it, his paws flailing out as he tried to shake his attackers off. He managed to grab the tail of the coyote on his scarred leg and he pulled. It yelped in pain, releasing his leg but Malachai did not stop, did not stop until he heard the sound of fur and flesh tearing. Fangs bit into his muzzle, no doubt the coyote who's tail he was pulling on trying to get him to release but it only made him pull harder, and he didn't stop until the tail broke free, similar to his own tail. The coyote yelped louder than he'd ever heard and now free from his grip went careening off into the woods. By this time the first Coyote had collected itself enough to make another attempt at Malachai, it was trying to go for his throat but Malachai was quicker, this time his jaws pushing easily through important arteries. The coyote hung limply from his jaws as he continued to attempt to shake his other attackers off, but it seemed they were quickly losing their taste for a wolf who was so eager to fight back. They eventually dispersed, each snapping jaws and growling and yapping as they went. Malachai stood stock still for a long while, hearing nothing but the blood pumping in his ears. Then the strength went out of his limbs and he allowed himself to fall onto the ground, the cold snowy ground. The coyote fell beside him, no longer held in his jaws. He was slowly turning the snow around him red but Malachai could not seem to care enough to get up, get help... He'd hoped to feel something. The thrill of a fight, the adrenaline lifting high, putting him back on the top of his game like he'd been before the raid, before he'd felt like if he couldn't keep up Grimshaw would leave him behind, before he'd tied so much of himself to another and suddenly found himself caring so much what someone else thought about him. But the adrenaline had worn off so fast and now he just felt... Empty. WC: 808 "speak"

He'd been picking up patrol shifts lately keeping him busier than he was used to. Between the bar, his rank, and the patrols he was stretched pretty thin. When he was in the den, he was often asleep and when he was awake he was crabby. Grimshaw was sure that Malachai had noticed his short temper and foul mood the last few weeks and he really felt bad. Their schedules were often misaligned and when they did have time together, even he didn't want to be around himself.

He picked up on the rank scent of the coyotes blood well before anything else and had already started off in their direction before he picked up on Malachai's scent. Malachai's blood, to be specific. Silver eyes widened in fear in that moment as he slowed to a stop only to sprint in the direction of the sound and scent. He hadn't been particularly close at the time, so when he arrived and the only thing left was his beloved slumped against the snowy ground with a lifeless coyote next to him. A horrific sound came out of him as he approached, unable to form words as tears blurred his vision. It was no secret that he had been attacked by coyotes, and a lot of them, but why?

Grimshaw whined as he nosed at the man's muzzle gently, afraid to move him too much. He blinked rapidly to clear his vision but it hardly worked as he looked over the mans wounds, or what he could see of them. Blood had already stained the snow around him and he was worried. Afraid to leave him alone, Grimshaw frantically called out for anyone. Someone to help him get him to a healer or a healer to come to them, he didn't care. He whined again after and settled down next to Malachai, nuzzling his cheek gently as tears streamed down his face. "You're going to be okay."

"Speech!"

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