Moonspear Are there mountains that surround us?

immediately after this

I didn't think Liffey would follow but if I'm wrong this is open to anyone <3!

Gannet sprinted, and to his credit, made it an admirable distance before missing a step. As he ran, his right hind leg would every few strides skip some beats, staying airborn while the others made up the difference. During one of these, however, it landed back down, and he felt the leg give out with a sort of dread.

Immediately he was sent tumbling, falling heavily on his side and slamming his shoulder and face into the dirt. He tasted blood and stayed down, curling in on himself, not trusting his legs to hold him and not wanting to even try to get up. Bitter disappointment and the shame of his own flight kept him in place, paralyzed, as he shook with the adrenaline of the fall and the ache of the conversation he'd just had.

Weather: -3°F, partly cloudy.

Dune had finally decided to call it a night. There were still scattered clouds in the sky, but he saw the small sliver of moon poke out a few times, and it relieved him somewhat. He was convinced that the moon had some kind of power over all those who lived on this mountain now. Dune was entirely unaware of the unrest that had rippled through the pack, so when he came across the smell of blood, mixed with the smell of Gannet, he froze in his tracks, worry bursting through his veins.

The two were not close, but they were pack, and Dune knew that an injury in subfreezing temperatures was a recipe for disaster. Not only that, but Gannet was already injured. Rushing toward the smell, he came upon a motionless white and black lump of bone, muscle, skin, and fur. Red splattered around him, and Dune whined, nosing him gently to see if he still lived.

He didn't hit his head hard enough to lose consciousness, thankfully, but there was a sickening pain there, and the blow had it bleeding. Even miserable, he knew he couldn't stay here, but moving seemed impossible.

The option of going with hadn't even crossed his mind; Liffey hadn't offered, and he had given his word. To a wolf who couldn't even lie to save his own life, breaking that wasn't an option. He was here for good now, come hell or high water. But much of the optimism he had found in that decision, an answer that had likely kept him alive, was walking freely away and out of his life. That was the part that he was having the hardest time with; he knew how this worked, and he thought he knew Charon by now well enough. Liffey and Rannoch would not be able to come anywhere near here now, and he couldn't leave. It was likely he would never see her again.

He was in a full on funk by the time Dune came upon him, but the wolf's touch brought him back sharply to himself. He growled instinctively, both in hurt and fear, and turned to snap. But as soon as he saw his packmate, he stopped, and the growl trailed into a plaintive whine as his ears splayed apologetically and apprehensively.

Movement and sound confirmed, much to Dune's relief, that Gannet was alive. He was scared and hurt, but he was alive. The gifted wolf breathed a sigh, and he whined again, uncertain. What was he supposed to do? Dune lacked anything beyond the very basics, so he began to assess the damage as best as he could. There was blood, Gannet was alive, and... okay, that was about all he knew.

Gently, Dune inched forward and licked at Gannet's head where there was the most blood. The smell and taste were both sickening and sweet. The blood of wolves was not one he enjoyed tasting, but it was instinct to clean wounds, and so he went to work, provided Gannet didn't snap him away.

Gannet allowed Dune to move in and begin cleaning the wound, knowing that he could not reach it himself. It hurt, but he refrained from lashing out at the Nu, instead only allowing another small whimper to escape.

It had been stupid to push himself like that, and now the damage was done. He was injured, and likely Liffey thought he hated her. But maybe that was for the best. Soon she would be gone, and Gannet would be here, and perhaps then she wouldn't worry about it. She could forget about him, like she did before, and he could stay with Wraen and Hydra and Dune and the rest.

Not at all cheered by this notion, unsurprisingly enough, he reached up to clean a spot of his own blood that had marred Dune's coat, and his tail thumped in a silent thank you.

At least Gannet was cooperating. Dune continued to clean, licking blood and dirt away from the white coat of his pack mate. Much to his surprise (although it really should not have astounded him in the least), Gannet returned the favor, cleaning away some mess that had gotten onto Dune's coat. It was, perhaps, the first sign of affection anybody had shown him since he had arrived upon the mountain. Maybe life here wouldn't be so bad after all. Little did he know things were about to get shook in a big way.

Once he was satisfied with his handiwork, Dune cast a concerned glance to Gannet's injured leg. He had been limping on it when they had met, and Dune had a pretty good feeling it had something to do with his most recent injuries. "Walk?" he asked, thinking it might be better to get up and moving than just sit here. Dune wanted to make sure that Gannet would at least be a little bit mobile.

Gannet calmed some under Dune's attention, and a part of the panic died off into a sort of numbed paralysis. When he finished, and suggested a walk, it took Gannet a minute to realize he had even spoken.

He nodded hesitantly and shifted to push himself up. He hissed out a light breath as he put weight on his shoulder; it had taken the brunt of the impact, saving his scalp some damage thankfully. It hurt to move, but not unbearably, and likely had a nice fat bruise to swell it up. Walking it off would hurt but didn't seem like the worst idea.

He looked at Dune and his ears fell back tentatively. He didn't ask aloud, but his expression held the question; help? He wasn't sure he wanted to be walking alone so soon after his leg had betrayed him completely.

Did Gannet think he was just going to leave him to his own devices now that he was up on his feet? No, sir! Dune might not have been the best at communicating the finer details, but he was not heartless, and he cared deeply for the pack. Each and every member had his companionship, his loyalty, and if they wished it: his friendship. Gannet was one of the wolves who was easy to read, and so Dune stood next to him, providing support if he needed it. Be it physical or emotional. (Oh my god, this is so sappy. I love it.)

Dune touched Gannet's (uninjured) shoulder gently with his nose, urging him forward. Maybe he wasn't such a bad impromptu nurse after all.

Even as he asked, Dune already seemed to have moved into position, a surefire sign that he hadn't even needed to. A rush of affection welled up in him, and had he the capacity, he might have cried at the gesture. Dune didn't care a whit about anything other than that they were pack, and because that was the case, he was here to help. No owed debt, no complicated ties. Just pure pack instinct. In a moment, Dune could find himself counted among Gannet's inner circle in his eyes.

Leaning on him gratefully, Gannet's demeanor shifted a bit, his ears and tail both lifting with a bit of their old verve. He wasn't to normal, per say, but he was present, and the smile he gave Dune in thanks was genuine.

Fade out here, maybe? Seems like a logical place to conclude. ^__^

Whatever sentiments they had for each other were silent, which Dune appreciated a great deal. Although he was attempting to become more fluent in spoken word, this was a situation where little to nothing needed to be said. Gannet seemed to agree, which put Dune further at ease with his lack of vocabulary. Wherever Gannet needed him right now, Dune was happy to be.