Fox's Glade [M] my end and my beginning

He did not know how long he ran, nor how far, nor in what direction he had fled his home. The absolute horror of what he had done, of what he was about to do, struck him so sick and sudden that he had ran on the power of it alone. Somewhere along his wild run the anger returned as a companion to his terror, and he hollered after the cat, called for it to come out of the shadows, to meet him again. But his raucous challenges went answered, and he was left wanting of breath. His ribs heaved, his tongue lolled, and he staggered onward. He did not know what he wished for more in that moment: the death of the cat, or the death of himself.

His paws did not find rest until he hit the creek in the glade, and collapsed on its bank. His muzzle reached out so that he could lap at the cold water that seeped around broken ice, unaware of the wolf that was coming toward him.