Nocturne Summit BWP3: PREY OPPORTUNITY

When Peregrine reached the far corner of Lake Rodney, he finally shot a glance over his shoulder. There were no wolves behind him. The air still smelled like o-zone and the rain continued to pour relentlessly. The black wolf sagged suddenly, sinking down on the shoreline nearest to the caldera. He knew Fox must be somewhere nearby, yet he didn't even look for her. He just stared at the ground between his outstretched, trembling forelegs as waves of relief, guilt and horror took turns washing over him (then rinsing and repeating).

He had almost died today, first by his own hand and then by the teeth of his own kind. He had nearly lost his life, all because he had let one instant of poor judgment nearly destroy his future. A strange, sobbing noise burst from Peregrine's throat, its latter half overruled by a cough of thunder. Peter wouldn't have wanted him to die and leave his mate and remaining sons behind to fend for themselves. Yes, he—they—shouldn't have failed him in the first place but, as their patriarch, Peregrine was no good to anyone dead.

And he wasn't even out of the woods yet, far from it. After taking in several shaky breaths, he tried to stand. Everything hurt. He sank down again. He could still taste blood in his mouth. If his insides were bleeding, he was still in danger of dying, especially considering he hadn't been in good condition prior to today's events. In fact, with a long, low exhale, the Redhawk slumped over onto his side. He was awake but unmoving, exposed eye fluttering as the rain pelted his face.