Bearclaw Valley I can give it all to you, will you take it all from me

the pair were making their way slower than she would have cared for.  she wanted to get him to safety. 

two reasons:
one — she felt something for him in that he had offered her family, protection, land.  he had lured her in from the wilds and deemed her bearclaw valley's.  losing him meant losing the closest thing to home she'd ever had, the closest thing to care she might ever experience.

two — they needed to return together; his blood was on her, on the snow, in his pelt though she had cleaned and cleaned it.  if something happened and she returned without him, she feared she would be blamed.

both entirely selfish, for she was a selfish creature.  she remained stoic nearly to the point of recklessness, goaded into stopping to clean and rest by the worried boy.  she was wired, every branch that cracked under the weight of ice caused her hackles to raise, a steel curtain dropping with force to block out the rational part of her brain.

the closer they got to the valley the less she seemed to fear, and working their way into the borders she began to vigorously rub herself against the trees. 

mine.  mine.  mine.

her white-cloaked wolf raised his maw to the air and howled, and at his urging she sat patiently.  this is the part when others come?  she craned her head back and once more began to clean his wounds as they waited.