Getting your shit kicked, just to feel something

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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