Lost Creek Hollow i know what i was feeling, but what was i thinking

Not sure about timelines and such. I never intended that he would have been absent for more than a couple days, so I think its best to assume this is backdated a bit.

Time was not but a pained and dizzied blur. He did not know, even, how he had managed to lift himself to his feet to walk. His wounds were innumerable, carved into his hide everywhere, long and short, shallow and deep. The cat had tore his cheeks, his shoulders, his sides and his flanks, his coat so badly stained that he no longer looked the part of a white wolf, but instead was the portrait of red and white roan. It was only by some inconceivable mercy, some questionable luck, that none of the wounds on their own had been fatally struck; at least, not immediately so.

He slumped down against the trunk of a thick tree just inside the marked borders, his blue tongue pinched between his teeth just barely showing, and his eyes shut. His head hung and swayed as if suspended by a rope about his neck. His consciousness was fragile, his mind not but a confusing stew of emotion and images that caused his legs to jerk and his muzzle to twitch into fleeting snarls.

He may not have been dead, but he was not far from it.