Morningside Cuesta Coffee with my bacon, please

She ran, pure and simple. Her paws hit the ground in quick succession, totally lost in the thrill of the run and not at all thinking. The wind was fierce, sky overcast, autumn evident in the crisp air. Rain fell, spitting, most of the drops lost to the whipping wind. She laughed, feeling utterly free. No longer was she attached to anything, alone once again. The land before her was flat, nothing in her way, and in a moment of brashness, fueled by euphoria, she closed her eyes. She was flying, nothing but the wind in stinging rain and the earth beneath her paws.
 
The earth beneath her paws. Where was it? Her eyes snapped open, the ground was gone as she was sailing across nothingness. She could barely open her mouth to screech something lost to the rain before plummeting down. Her fall was short-lived, however, landing on a softer and much more managanvle decline and rolling down in an uncontrollable mass of legs and body.

@Sriracha if you have time!

Today he scouted due West, back the way he had come to these Wilds. The rain blurred edges, but his keen eyes had found the drop and avoided it, taking the long way around to come to the bottom of the wall. It was sheer, and the ages were reflected in the weathered bands of different minerals in the face. It was these that he was inspecting when he saw the wolf drop.

She fell with the rain. Sriracha's stomach emptied into a pit as he watched what he thought where the last moments of a wolf's life. She plummeted, a moment that seemed to stretch to eternity, then hit a slope and rolled. Immediately, Sriracha's legs (which had frozen in abject horror) began to work again. He sprinted to the wolf's side, expecting to find her dead and broken body. Señorita? he said, horrified. Señorita, do you live?

Her wild fall came to a halt, and she groaned.  Perhaps it would be for the best to never blindly run around again. She didn't feel like moving just yet, remaining sprawled on the fairly level ground, until another voice Interupted her silent recovery. Her eyes slid upward to meet a masked race, a rather handsome one at that. She watched him a moment rather dully before replying "Sorta" was her groaned response. She rolled into a more comfortable position, adrenaline throbbing through her as well as shock.

She was sore all over, one of the effects of falling ofF a small cliff and rolling a few moments. Fortunately, the drop she had chosen to fly off of was not as long a drop as other points on the cliff face,  yet still potentially a mortal drop. Her fore leg burned, as did her paws from such an awkward landing. Numerous cuts covered her form, and a pounDing headache had started up behind her eyes. The howling wind and spitting rain did little but add to her sudden, unexpected misery as she squinted at the male. She didn't feel like getting up just yet.

thank you so much for joining!!!

my pleasure!!!

The first good sign came when her eyes opened. She had green eyes, he discovered. Next she moved, which didn't seem like a good idea to him, so he let out a jumped, hey, hey, hey. Try to stay still, ¿bueno?. Were he a healer, he might have been less panicked (an understatement, he was terrified.) Ah, but she spoke! That had to be a good sign. It mean she hadn't punctured a lung, which probably meant her ribs weren't broken.

I am going to take a look at you, alright? I want to see how hurt you are, he told her. If she could move, perhaps they could get within howling range of Ocra, who was a better healer than he. (Then again, Xan was probably a better healer than he was. The bar wasn't set very high.) He figured the first place to start with was her back, since he couldn't move her if that was hurt. I am going to touch you, señorita. Will you tell me if it hurts? And very carefully, he began to nudge her back with his nose. Following her spine from the back of her neck all the way to her tail, he prodded at each knob of a verterba.

Shock and adrenaline proved a fairly good band-aid, numbing the pain as she slowly slipped out of a state where much seemed surreal. Why the hell was there a cliff at the end of a perfectly good meadow? In her previous state of euphoria, it had seemed like the plain stretched on much further than it had. She squinted at the male, for a moment, he seemed new and strange and slightly blurred. Had she been a healer, with any knowledge of disease and illness and herbs, she would have recognised it as a sign of a concussion, and the burning in her forelimb as being dislocated. 

The male's words seemed disjointed, she watched him as he approached and begun poking her spine in silence, trying to gather her wits. She winced, tensing the first time his prodding hit a bad bruise or cut, disguised under her fur, but when tensing unleashed a whole new wave of pain, she stopped and forced herself to relax. When he seemed to have finished, she spoke. "There was a cliff- but ther wasn't supposed to be." she muttered, as if chastising the rock formation. She peered at her left shoulder, odd looking and as the shock faded, more painful by the moment. she made to move it, but to her great and muddled confusion, her limb didn't follow orders. "It's not working." she groaned/stated, still not confident this wasn't a bad dream.

Whatever was going on chemically inside of her seemed to be a hell of a drug. All of his tender prodding found no breaks, and so Sriracha deemed it safe to move her, but not before finding out whatever was wrong with her. Because there was no conceivable way that she was unharmed after a fall like that. You probably rattled your brain around pretty hard, he said, judging by the unfocused glaze of her eyes.

Though her leg seemed fine, there was something very disconcerting about the shape of her shoulder. I think we need someone to check that leg out. What about the others? D'you think you can walk? He was so far out of his league, but he had Ocra as a safety. Sriracha was so confident in her abilities that, so long as he could get the girl to her, Ocra could take care of her. I know someone who can help you, but we've gotta get close. It didn't help that the only wolf he knew with healing capabilities was also injured herself.

When she had fallen, her forelimbs had stretched out before her, taking the brunt of the fall. Her right limb was serviceable, at best, and yet her left was down for the count. Glancing at her shoulder, disjointed and bending in a way it was not supposed to, made her queasy, and she looked away quickly, the limb a messy, bent mess of blood and odd angles. Blood was beginning to flow through the thick of her fur, her left side entirely bruised and battered. At the male's words, she ground, not in the least inclined to try, but she would rather go with him then become a crow-feast here. 

She did not respond immediately, but somewhere near the end of his second sentence she suddenly surged to her feet. Her left limb was held a few inches above the ground, lacking the ability to clutch it close, her body trembling violently as swaying legs sought to hold her thin frame. She blanched at the sudden nausea and pain, but managed through some feat to hold her ground, though fighting a losing battle against nausea at the same time.

In his concern for her leg, Sriracha forgot to ask about other wounds. It was no wonder he was a terrible healer. Though he cared, his attention span was too short to give long-term care. What about other wounds? he asked, glancing at the cuts that littered her sides.

There was a pause during which she said nothing, and Sriracha ventured, señorita? Have you passed out? But she had not. Suddenly, she surged to her feet, her left leg held gingerly above the ground. Immediately Sriracha did as he had with Ocra, stepping up beside her left side so she could lean on him if need be. I am here, if you need the support. How does this feel? Do you think you could walk like this? He could always carry her, but that would be no fun for either of them. He was not the largest of wolves, and it would be embarrassing for her to be dragged through the wilds by her scruff like an overgrown child.

Walk.
She ignored his other words, the throbbing pain taking up too much of her attention. But she couldn't stay here, and thus she lurched forward, leaning heavily on the other and slowly, carefully, hobbling forward on three legs, head low and pulse pounding. She'd go wherever this male led her, beyond the point where she would question him or talk or do anything but focus all her attention on moving forward, panting and on occasion whimpering or hissing as a poor choice of movement would send pain lancing up her leg. As adrenaline and awareness faded, her movements became slower and more painful; however, her sheer stubbornness would take her to wherever the male would lead her. 

Perhaps fade here, start a new one? Thanks for the thread!

absolutely!

And so she began to move. Sympathy gripped him, for every movement of hers must have been painful. So, too, did respect. She was tough. Many wolves would have died, and few would have found the will to push against the pain and follow him. But follow she did, and she would be rewarded. Though the distance was great, at the end of the road lay the peace and comfort of the grove. There she would be cared for, her wounds would be seen to, and she could rest until she was recovered. Then Sriracha would grant her the opportunity to stay with them, to grow with them.