Rushing blood of all things

Throwing this in quick!

Malachi ripped the ground with fervent speed as he tore through the underbrush, scrambling over rock and root, ignoring the sting of branches as they whipped against his face. His breath came in heavy pants, and his muscles seared from the sprint, but still the man did not slow. Adlartok's howl still rang in his ears - one of pain and distress - and this was what fuelled him forward with unrelenting speed.

The man scrambled down a river bank, one of the many that crossed their territory, and splashed into the fast flowing Glacial water. Its coolness bit his paws, but he gave the discomfort little heed. To find another way would take too long, and Malachi did not know how much time he had to spare.

Yet the water still slowed him, and impatience bit him like a wildcat. Cursing under breath, he pulled himself quicker across the slippery rocks, paying little heed to else surrounding him. But as he drew in another breath, his rambling mind stopped cold, and he inhaled again. Blood. With a sharp lurch he threw himself in sloppy bounds to the other side before turning sharply and redirecting his path further downstream.

It did not take him long to find them. He drew up with bounds and scrambled to a stop. Debris littered his sopping fur, mud caked his paws, but his attention lay only upon the horrid scene sprawled before him. His gaze fell upon Scarlett before shifting to Adlartok beneath her paws, and his eyes sparked with confusion. "What the hell happened?" Had the lynx returned? The sheer thought bolted him with unease, but Malachi could scent nothing past the pus and fluid leaking from the wounds scourged across the young boy's back.