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Too tired to run. Too worn to fight. Instead, Tweed simply stood where he was, meek as ever, as the other male approached him. When the other paused, Tweed shut his eyes tight, wincing as he expected the blows to come. Perhaps this wolf would be his merciful killer. That would be easier than the life he had been living for the better part of the month. Or had it been longer. Since the rest of the pack had split, time felt squishy and out of place, like it had never existed at all.

No pain came to him, though. Just a voice. A question, to be precise. Tweed had not thought on it. Not one ounce. He blinked a few times, then shrugged, glancing to the female whom he had not noticed until just now. His (re)actions had slowed more and more the longer he was alone.