Little

The little one limped into the clearing; the wolves had drawn back into the darkness to watch for it, having smelled it across the field. Watching. Watching. The tiny so hurt and spent and starving, it cared not for the wolves, but for all of the ones it had left behind. It was the alpha male who walked out, ten times the size of the small thing (its head low). “Who did this?” the Alpha asked, smelling and nudging. “Tell me now.” And the little told as much as it knew and then collapsed. “Bring food and water,” the alpha female commanded, sprinting from the wild berry rows and wrapping around the tiny to keep it warm. “Last one to act dies.” But she needn’t have warned them, for they were about it - all of the same mind, and the small was so grateful to live, but so tired. “Sleep, and grow stronger,” the Alpha hummed, and gave a knowing look to the male (whose eyes had narrowed to slits). “We leave now to rescue the others,” he commanded (the leads falling into rank behind). “And I’ll come as well,” the Grey informed them, padding slowly out into the clearing, his silver fur moonburning in the bright light. “Speed on without delay, but leave the bipeds to me.” All bowed as he rose to walk on his back legs again, his great shoulders broad, and his claws clenched. “Leave them to me.”