Porcupine Ridge authentic battle damage

His rhythmic licking did not cease as one of his subordinates drew near, though his gray eyes did flick upward to behold Diane. He greeted her with a brief, slow wag. "You're fine," he murmured, as his attention returned to his task. His tongue slowly progressed from the wound on his shoulder to the blood trail on his foreleg and paw, gradually working it free of his fur. He stretched out his leg when he had finished, feeling the stiffness in his muscles, and the aches that had formed there.

Diane had been there when he called his pack to defend their borders. She had been there when he marched them onto Thunder Dome, and she was here now. He held her in his favor for all of that, and for all her efforts of establishing herself as a worthy pack member. Meanwhile, there were wolves that had been cast in the shadow of his grace. They would not be welcomed at his side right now; but Diane was safe.

"How's your leg?" Asked the black wolf, as his eyes fell to the wound left on her forelimb. His lips were thin, pursed, his expression telling of how he felt about what had occurred.