Sleeping Dragon Feathers

The wolf walked slowly and carefully. His Heda, @Thuringwethil, dogged him from a distance away. Her presence clouded his mind, and all he could concentrate on for some time was putting one paw after another, the mild pain that was associated with it, and her. It was a balmy spring afternoon, and he had been allowed to emerge from his dank prison to try out his legs. If they left it much longer, the male may not have been able to walk at all.
 
If another wolf appeared to take over guard duty, Heda would likely leave as quietly as she had appeared, slinking off into her territory to rule her subjects. He had been true to his words to her that second day of capture – he would not run. Where would he go? A harsh sound emerged from his muzzle, a mixture of a sob and a laugh.
 
The Omega plodded carefully another couple of paces then stopped, breathing heavily. When he came to a standstill, he automatically lifted his wounded paw, so that it rested only by the tips of his nails upon the hard ground. It was a fragile appendage still, but it appeared to have healed clean and straight. Soon he would be able to run, Lucani assured him.
 
And what then? What could he do to help his pack? What use did he have? How could he prove to Heda that he was worth her saving him?
 
He lifted his head to look around him, spotting only stunted trees and overgrown moss bundles packaged amidst large boulders. Spring was arriving. Perhaps he could fetch berries or herbs. Perhaps nesting materials for his alphas, in case they became pregnant?!
 
With this thought gripped by his addled mind, Storm moved carefully towards a tree, to hunt for feathers upon the ground.