Fairspell Meadow Keep me running, running scared

He is not alone.

Body tenses, mind and muscle screaming at each other in a war that might've been amusing if not for the potential danger. Perhaps they have caught up to him already, despite the many days and nights he's fled. Terror gripping him, for while he knows fighting like the back of his hand, there is not much one lone wolf could do.

The fur on that back of his scruff stands on end, and he struggles to his feet as steps near him. Lips pull back to display a half-hearted snarl, and bloodied jaws. Internal injury, maybe. He wheezes out a breath, preparing himself to fight this tiny woman if he must.

Surprisingly, she does not attack. Instead, she... worries?

His lips relax—a waste of precious energy—and the male stares with unfocused red eyes. 'Dandy. Never better.' Yes, he lies. Obviously not okay.