I'm my only chance

Artok slid from the den mouth. He placed his front paw down to take a step, and it crumpled under him. He was in no way, better. But he was better than he had been. He sighed and whining tried again. He was fearful that he would never walk again, or at least never without a limp. When the she wolf had ripped into his hide, she had permanently damaged something. The muscles on his right side felt tight and hot all the time. If he tried to walk it crumpled beneath him. If he tried to stretch he fell to the ground in pain, tears streaming down his muzzle.

He gritted his teeth and tried again. Gentle stretches, he remembered those from when his uncle Sin was broken. He tried to move, and found that in order to move without falling he had to carry the leg upwards. He sighed and looked down at the ground, frustrated and angry. Would he ever hunt again?