Cedar Sweep Blood of a fool

Hunger warred viciously in her mind with - with something else. His ragged, shallow breaths and prone, vulnerable position were all she needed to drop back into a slink, tongue darting out to lick the slaver off her muzzle. She was at his side all at once, nose pressing inquisitively into his side as she searched out the best place to tear in... Ears twitching in anticipation, teeth nipping experimentally at his blood-encrusted fur.

But when she looked at him, when she smelled past the blood and caught hints of the sweet-scented youth that still clung to him - her fangs were stopped. She laid down beside him and gave his cheek a soothing lick before examining the wound on his neck, no longer hungry, but worried for her poor, injured cub.

"I'll take care of you," she vowed, shifting closer and beginning to clean the blood from his fur. Her saliva would aide in the healing process, and when he was rested, she would take him to her den to recover. Perhaps she could hunt up some food for him when she went to gather lemongrass, which could be chewed up and packed against wounds to keep away infection.

For now, she cleaned up his pelt until his natural rosiness was revealed, instead of the coat of blood he'd been wearing. Her tail wagged as she thought about how much she looked like him - he truly took after her in build and coloration. She supposed her genes were more dominant than his father's. Or perhaps he looked the same as them; she couldn't remember.

"Do you want me to sing to you?" she asked her pup, giving his wound one last lick.