Bearclaw Valley Though you can see when you’re wrong

Cole’s entire body was taut, a coil of frantic energy as he cradled Winslet against him, his fur slick with her blood. Every breath she took felt like a fragile thread pulling her further from the edge, but he couldn’t let go. He wouldn’t.
When Ameline arrived, gaze snapped to her, a guttural growl rumbling low in his chest before he registered who it was. His snarl faded, though the tension didn’t leave his frame. The medics. Thank God. But even their presence couldn’t loosen the grip he had on the injured wolf.
Her legs, he rasped, his voice breaking. Her legs...I don’t— His words cut off, his throat tightening as he glanced down at Winslet’s bloodied limbs, his heart a thunderous drum in his chest.
The medics moved in, their calm precision a stark contrast to his barely contained panic. Cole’s lip curled instinctively, another growl escaping him as Fenrith drew closer to touch her wounds. Careful, he barked, his voice hoarse, his protective instincts flaring despite knowing they were here to help.
His eyes darted between Ameline and the medics, his breathing shallow and erratic. He held Winslet tighter, rocking her slightly as if trying to soothe her—and himself. You’re okay, he whispered against her ear, his voice a strained attempt at calm. They’re gonna fix you up, baby. Just hold on, alright? Just hold on.
He looked back at the medics, his jaw clenching. Fix her, he growled. Please.