Hideaway Strath You think you are

A fresh scent of blood reaches his nose. What is going on now? He wonders briefly as he stands, raising his nose to the air and inhaling. His brows furrow at the smell and his eyes squint is suspicion. That smells almost familiar, but blood is just blood after all. 

So with his nose continuing to sniff, he wanders towards the direction the scent is pulling him. It becomes stronger and stronger and by now he’s a bit worried it could be one of his own. One of his Saints. 

Yet upon arrive, he sees Sasha. Her pale white form slumped and wavering in place. The stark red of blood seeped into her usually beautiful fur. Then he stops so fucking fast, his eyes go wide and I’m that moment a horrid rage swells within this breast and his heart pumps it through his body like a life line. Who the fuck does he have to kill now? 

He’s done being a statue. Instead he sprints over to her side, muzzle softly lifting her drooping, tired head up. “What the fuck?!” He growls. Not necessarily at her but at the situation in general. 

Then another scent hits him once he’s upon her, so he sticks his wet nose into her fur (the non injured areas) and nuzzles around in it. This other scent is Nyra’s and once more he goes stock still. Oh. He thinks. Nyra is about to feel his teeth once more. Usually he doesn’t mind fights within the pack, but when it’s this serious and when he’s supposed to be the one killing this bitch it pisses him off to no extent. 

So he presses his chest against her, giving her a place to lean on. “You’re gonna be fine, dear.” He hums to her quickly. “Stay awake.” Then he tilts his head up and gives a series of very serious, short but plentiful howls to call Dove. She needs to work on her as soon as possible or she’ll end up dying much too quickly. Until she arrives he will stay with her, whispering sweet nothings in her ear as he whispers death threats to Nyra in his own mind.