Duck Lake it's all shits and giggles until someone giggles and shits

From day one he had met everything in his life with his teeth. The storm was no different. He snapped savagely at the raindrops, and snarled back at the thunder that rang too loud in his ears. Fed up and frustrated with everything, the coywolf ranged out of the confines of the cave while his mother and father searched for his brother.

The hail that came next was another irritant for his fangs to destroy. He attacked the first few pieces to fall, reeling on those that struck him first with terrible ferocity. But as the hail came faster and faster and battered his snout, his head, his back and his ass, he became overwhelmed. Not unlike his brother, he ran toward the clearest skies he could see, raging and spitting the entire way like a furious cat chased by wasps.

—

He might have found himself nearer his brother if he had not ran astray of a rogue. Brazen as he was, and even more so that he was hungry, he tested his luck stealing from the wolf's kill and learned, in no uncertain terms, that his luck had run out. He lay unconscious, bleeding from deep tears in his neck and numerous bites along his back and haunches; fortunate enough to escape, but unfortunate enough to find himself at the mercy of whoever might find him first.

Constantine hadn’t strayed too far from the Creek since their arrival. Durnehviir had been due at any time during their move, and once the pups had been born, he had stuck close to her side, assisting when he could and finding himself revelling in the shift of his life – he had gone from his entire family being either dead or missing.. and now, Durnehviir had given him new hope.
 
Their ranks had thinned slightly – though nothing that had him worried, given the few they held in the forest. Still, the swarthy male found himself skirting along the neutral territories that remained near their home, trailing after the herds and becoming more familiar with the area.
 
He didn’t expect the battered mess he came across. The whelp was still extremely young, though not as much as his own brood. A light frown pressed upon his brow, and Constantine paused, considering the scenario before him. His nose twitched as he lifted it, trying to determine if he could scent another wolf nearby – he didn’t. Prowling forward, the Mayfair gently nosed the boy’s shoulder, seeing if he could rouse him.

The trauma had made him weak and largely unresponsive. The battered pup's paws twitched feebly in response to the swarthy male's nudging, but it was reflexive. Some ingrained flight response that, like the beat of his heart, would always be there so long as he was alive. There was not a spark of awareness in his mind about the presence of this wolf. He wimpered piteously from the darkness he strained to wake from. Pained and afraid.

The twitch signified there was still life in the boy – albeit, it didn’t look good for him. The swarthy wolf worried over the injuries, particularly his neck. He did not smell of disease, and so Constantine did the only thing his moral compass would allow for. He scooped the youth up as gently as he could, and made his way swiftly back to the creek.