Iskandor’s gaze never left the coyotes as they circled, snarling and pacing, clearly weighing their options for success. His chest heaved with exertion, blood from his wounds inflicted by the coyote earlier trickling into the bloody earth the stranger had already wet.
The sickly wolf was trying—gods above, they were trying so hard. The tremble in their limbs and the labored gasps of their breath clawed deep in Iskandor’s chest. He growled low, a sound meant to hold the coyotes at bay. "You’re doing good," he said without turning, his voice firm but not unkind. "Just a little more. Stay with me, okay?"
With a quick glance over his shoulder, he took in the sight of the other pup’s attempt to rise, their legs trembling under the strain. They weren’t going to last much longer. His decision was immediate, instinctual.
"Hold steady!" he barked, wheeling around swiftly. In one fluid motion, he dipped his shoulders low, powerful young frame tensing. "I’ve got you—don’t fight me, just hold on. Teeth, claws, it doesn't matter. Dig deep!"
With a shove, he nosed under their chest, lifting them onto his back with a surge of strength. His muscles protested, strained from the earlier fight, but he ignored the burn, steadying the smaller wolf as best he could.
"Hang tight, don’t fall." he growled, trying to ease the mood as well as warn them. Then, with one final, guttural snarl at the coyotes, Iskandor leaped into motion. His paws tore into the earth as he sprinted, muscles straining with every powerful bound. The sound of snarls and snapping jaws followed close behind, but he didn’t look back. He couldn’t. Too much at stake.
They had to trust his gamble—that the coyotes would value the tiger carcass over a fleeing, half-dead wolf and their stubborn companion. He focused on the rhythm of his stride, on the feel of the unnamed pup clinging to him. On the growing concern for their health. Every step was defiant, because neither of them were going to die here—not today, not like this.
"Speech"
