Silverlight Terrace run, boy, run.

Keir's pupils grew thin, little pins in a sea of dull yellow, as a wind-touseled wolf of white and silver stood before him-- ripping the ear from Hrath's skull as though it were the finest tissue, moving with such grace and precision that if Keir was not completely irreligious, he may have been inclined to believe a saint had descended from the heavens in his favour.

No, this man was entirely real, and surged to his rescue-- yet Keir's pride, though battered and blooded and gutted to near-death, could not allow him to be saved. His guilt made his gut raw, the though of this small white wolf's throat between Hrath's slobbering jaws. He had no idea-- no idea how strong his father was. 

His body, it ached. He was in such a pitiful state, one eye half-shut and sticky with blood, one limb still bleeding furiously. But Keir would not give up, not when he had a morsel of strength left. The black wolf let out a gutteral, agonized moan as he stood, the fur along his spine and his hackles raised. He wavered from one side to the other, his frail body trembling and demanding respite.

This white stranger-- was he some fool? Some mental case? Risking his life for a wolf he did not even know the name of. He has a death wish, Keir thought.

"This isn't your-- IT AIN'T YOUR BUSINESS," Keir barked, trying to stand in the way. "What kinda-- what kinda f-fool sticks his muzzle in for some stranger?" His back legs gave in, and he struggled to keep himself standing. He felt his muzzle reach the earth, and he growled. "I--I ain't finished...!! I can handle this myself..!!" 

But to any wolf with half his mind, this kid was done. His flanks heaved for air as his heart desperately pumped blood though his body. I have to fight... this can't be for nothing...