Porcupine Ridge We are hope

The world in Burr's eyes was an immense, yet empty place. He never thought to call out for help because he knew how far removed he was from Easthollow in the mountains. He had gone a lot farther than he ever intended to, having traveled for several days, and he hadn't encountered another wolf in all that time. As far as he knew, Easthollow was the only pack within ten thousand miles, and they were much too far away to hear his whining. Even if he cried out his loudest, Burr knew they would never hear him there.

He'd gone way too far from home and things seemed bleak. He licked his lips nervously, wincing at an unexpected sting followed by the acrid taste of blood. Burr hadn't even felt it when he bit his lip on the way down, but now that he was aware of it, the tears in his eyes swelled.

The clatter of rocks was his only warning; he whipped his head up just in time to meet the sharper, fiercer gold of Dawn's gaze. It was instinct to shrink back and away from her, both because she was a stranger and because he was injured. Burr pressed his ears back and drew his muzzle down, cradling his broken ankle close to his chest, and when she asked what happened, he took a long time to decide whether or not he should answer. After all, this could be Cyron's kidnapper, or Rowana's, for all he knew. He briefly glanced away to search for back-up on the mountainside, but knew that there was none, so finally he answered in a high, pained voice, "I-I fell." The pockmarked terrain could explain for itself how a sure-footed creature like a wolf might do something like that.

He could abruptly smell someone else, but couldn't see her, and pressed himself tighter back against the rock in hopes they weren't about to gang up on him.