The red haze... it flickers. Smash. Break. Destroy.
No. No. Not the den.
I turn sideways. I push.
My wounded shoulder screams as it grinds against the rock. Pain. White-hot.
Good.
I push harder.
Scrape. Tear. Rip.
I am through.
No. I am stuck.
I am stuck in the entrance.
I cannot go in. I cannot get out.
The wind screams at my back. It hits me. It tears at my hide. It fills my wounds with ice.
...But in front of me?
In the darkness?
It is still. It is quiet.
I am the door.
I am the wall.
This is good. Nothing can get in. The wind cannot get in. The Worgs cannot get in.
I hear her.
A gasp. A shaking breath.
Her scent fills the small, dark space. Snow. Berries. Fear.
I have done it.
I am a living wall of muscle and hide between her and death.
She is safe.
She is warm.
Mine.
I feel a movement. A small, trembling sound in the dark.
A touch.
Her body. Her small, fragile body.
She huddles against my back.
