Herbalists' Cache been training vipers to come for you

Despite a life of hardship and unending reasons to be wary, Zephyr still finds himself lapsing, at times, back into the obliviousness of his early youth. Distracted by a scent stronger than the rest, he fails to notice that he is no longer alone until a voice cuts through the frigid air. He freezes, head whipping around to glance back over his shoulder after a beat. His ears stand perfectly erect, eyes big and full of uncertainty until they land upon the russet-furred brute.
Fear lances through him, but he hides the feeling well, turning to face the stranger and taking a few steps forward. His ears flutter back against his skull as he takes in the size of the other. Even wounded and wreathed in the scent of his own blood, the wolf before him is an impressive sight. I won't be weak, he reminds himself, steeling his nerves. I won't beg. I don't know you, He says after a few moments, voice level but loud enough to carry. His heart seems to beat a little faster, but he focuses instead on the cold prickling at his skin. The cold is easier, a more constant companion to him than fear. He knows how to deal with that feeling, at least.