The Wolf of the Wilds

The Rescue

Helena shifted as she got closer, her bones resizing, cracking and popping as her body morphed. Her muzzle parted the greenery and she carried her body close to the ground, not making a sound.

Soon she could make out the heavy breathing of the rogues, fear permeating the air like the ash of a flame.

"Hey, Perc, what was that screaming? I can smell blood," a masculine voice said, uncertainty carried in each syllable that the wolf spoke.

"I dunno. It's not this geezer. Do you reckon the boss decided to finish off those other two?"

"No. It doesn't smell like wolf, it-. Oh shit! That's the boss' blood!"

There was scrambling and what sounded like running as the rogues scattered and left the scene as quickly as they could.

Helena made a low growl of annoyance, reprimanding herself mentally shortly afterwards. She was far too bloodthirsty for her own good at times.

It was fine to let them run, she reminded herself. They were weaklings and could do little harm without a strong leader to hide behind. In fact, their cowardice was convenient for her. This way she could go about her search unhindered by enemies.

With that in mind, she ran towards the small clearing that the rogues had just vacated, instantly inspecting the scene with her sharp eyes.

What caught her attention first was the man on the ground. Upon further scrutiny of the area she shifted back into her human form and approached with caution. As a human the scent of blood was less overwhelming, more manageable.

"Hello!" she called, eyeing the fresh claw marks and teeth punctures etched into the man's skin. His clothes had been shredded and it appeared that he had been attacked whilst bound. Ropes were tightly wrapped around his wrists and ankles, with a gag cutting into his cheeks.

Helena knelt at his side, pulling out a small concealed blade from a cord that hung from her neck. She used the sharp metal to release the man from his bindings and leant forward to hover above his face. For a moment she stayed there, thankful as moisture appeared on her cheek, a soft sound vibrated in her ear and she observed the rise and fall of his chest.

He was alive. Just unconscious.

Using the rags of his torn tunic, she did her best to stem the flow of blood from his various wounds.

This situation wasn't ideal, but she needed to get him back to the road. Hopefully the other wolves were carrying things that could be used to patch him up with. The only problem was getting him there.

He was a large man, burly and muscled. As in heavy. Helena meanwhile was built for speed, not strength. She would barely be able to lift him, let alone carry him.

In the end she resorted to using the rope to hoist him up, tying them into a makeshift harness, allowing her to spread his weight across her shoulders and back. The walk back was slow and in some places she struggled, her feet slipping in the place soft mud. The whole time her mind was flitting from one subject to the next. One second she was making sure her surrounding were safe, the next she was checking her charge was still breathing and that his condition hadn't deteriorated. Despite her mind already being busy, every so often random trains of thought would cross her mind.

Would the rogues return? What would the Montis wolves think when they saw the dead skin walker? Why did her blood drenched clothes have to cling to her skin that way?

Eventually the trees gave way to the gravel road and the instant she was visible Adrian and Ben were at her side, helping carry the injured man. The horses were all tied to the nearby trees, while Felix was attempting to calm the two women down. When they laid him down his mate came running over.