Duskfire Glacier bleak

A harsh breath slipped from between gritted teeth. Hawthorn screwed his eyes shut, taking yet another small step forward. He could feel himself teetering just over the edge, and instinctively, the blunt claws on his paws dug into the soft snow, trying to find purchase, but achieving nothing. He knew this was selfish; this was probably the most selfish thing any wolf could do, but he had long known that he wasn't a good and moral creature, he knew he was selfish, and he knew this was the only way where the pain would leave forever.
But Hawthorn himself would also leave, and the chances were, he would never be coming back. Deep breaths, he told himself firmly. People say that suicidal people were cowards, but Haw began to appreciate that even suicide took courage. He bit his lip firmly, tasting the metallic copper of blood as he inched forward bit by bit, little by little. And then a familiar voice rang out, and Hawthorn almost slipped. "Shit," he swore, inching back just a little bit, fear gripping his heart. "Go away, Kieran," Hawthorn called, his voice low and bleak. "I don't want you to see this."
But of course, the younger boy didn't listen. He rushed forward, trying to reach for Haw's scruff and when he failed to do so, growling lowly, he pushed Hawthorn and placed his paw forward. Hawthorn met his gaze evenly and let out a soft breath, watching the misty vapour leave his maw. "No what?" he asked softly. "C'mon, you don't even like me. And with me gone, you have less competition," his words were blunt, but true and Haw knew that Kieran knew it too.
Roughly, he tried to shove Kieran back into safety, "Go away. I don't want you to die, I don't want you to get hurt."