Moonspear slippery slopes

There was a swell of worry that verged upon panic within his chest—pale eyes stared down at the she-wolf who did not move—Njord and Tullik calling to him. “She breathes,” he called up—but there was uncertainty within him—perhaps that faltered his voice.

Wasn’t there something to be said about moving an injured wolf who had fallen from such heights? He was no healer—perfectly out of his element. Resolve filtered him—his eyes glancing up to the cliff’s edge from where she had fallen, scanning a path for them both should he lift her.

“I fear I’ll hurt her more if I move her,” he admitted. But did they have a choice?