A broken thing of wood, half-buried in a drift. A trapper's cabin. Old. Forgotten.
Safe.
The door is gone. A black hole.
I shove her inside. Into the dark. Safe.
She tumbles onto the dirt floor.
She is safe. The wind is gone. The enemy is gone.
The purpose... it leaves.
The strength... it pours out of me. It pours out of the hole in my leg.
The world goes black at the edges.
My leg breaks. It cannot hold me.
I fall.
I crash onto the floor of the den. The impact shakes the small cabin. The pain is a white-hot sun. It explodes behind my eyes.
The red haze is now gone.
I am weak.
A failure. I failed to protect. Now I am broken.
I hear her move. Smell her scent.
She is not weak. She is not afraid.
"Threk. Oh, gods, Threk. Your leg."
Her voice. The cool water. It washes over the pain, but it cannot stop it.
She touches me.
Her hands. On my leg.
I roar. It is a wet, weak sound. I flinch, my muscles tensing to throw her off.
"Shh! I know! I know it hurts!" Her voice is sharp. Strong. "I have to. I have to stop the bleeding. It's... it's too much."
Her touch is different.
It is not the gentle, hesitant touch from the cave.
It is firm. It is purposeful. She is healing me.
She tears cloth. I hear it rip.
She presses down. Hard. On the wound.
AGONY.
I roar again, my body arching off the floor. My claws dig into the dirt.
