Qeya River I know the pieces fit

None of what transpired next made much sense to Anselm, who like a shopkeeper after a hurricane's passing was still busily attempting to right the topsy-turvy order of his confused headspace.

The man -- Yikaas -- lunged for one of the wolves. Anselm froze, eyes dark as the scene unfolded. He was in little position to help, but instinctively he stepped forward and lowered his head to shield his throat -- a universally threatening gesture that communicated anticipatory violence. It was not his wish to fight, and truthfully he was not so sure he could, but this was a strange predicament for him to be in, and though he did not like to see the man lash out at a woman, he understood his debt was with him and not the strangers.

Both wolves now folded to the ground. Anselm swallowed nervously, gaze resting on Yikaas expectantly.