Games at the border

He ran to Mal, one wing dragging across the ground, limp. He bled freely from where the dogs claws had caught him on the face, near the ear and jaw. The blood trickled down his face, but he ignored it. He had rolled a small ways away from Mal and her fight, but he hurried back to her now.

He arrived just as she finished her own fight, and rose, bloody and weary, but victorious. The young wolf rushed to her, and moved to brush his tongue across the wound clear, and bright across her shoulder. He winced in sympathy at it, even well feeling his own aches and wounds. “That was… that was more intense then my other fights.” he admitted. It had caught them so off guard, and after hearing Mal’s history, about losing everyone she loved… he had been lost in the thought that losing the wolves he cared about sounded like the worst kind of pain. When those dogs had barreled towards them… “I panicked, i’m sorry Mal. are you okay?”