Chimera Fields a body moving through space

What he feels under the stranger's hellish gaze is complicated, and he is not quite bright enough not to call it salvation. He was afraid, but he'd been afraid for some time, now, and hunger had begun to trump fear sometime in the past four days. And perhaps the other was just as hungry as he, but anything different seemed new and impressive to the youth.

He still could not fathom, some days, that there were wolves out here living all on their own, without the aid of his venerable sire and dam. If they could do it, he could do it to. And here was a wolf, he thought, who was doing it. Maybe later, when he was thinking less with his belly and more with his mind, he would consider the idea that he was not doing it very well.

At the moment, however, he was the kindest and saintliest wolf Yosemite had ever met; at his word, the boy gave another sharp whine of thanks and came forward, still lowly, but not quite belly-crawling anymore. He was afraid of the stranger but he was too hungry to care, and so he came within easy reach of the other man's jaws only to flounder, for a moment, over the very simple question.

"Legs?" he said. The stranger had told him to pick — "No! I mean — arms. Please."

He flashed another quick look at the older man before darting his gaze elsewhere, fighting the urge to make a grab for the rabbit and run. If he had seen the elder's slight limp, he might even have tried it.