Whitefish River Just an old memory

smol pp—kick me if you want anything changed!

The shift of her gaze went unnoticed—he was far too busy digging at the snow, trying his damnedest to get as much of it away from her as he could; for as much as he pushed away, the sky opened up and cast more down unto them. It was a lost cause, his efforts futile; he wondered if he should give up, knowing not if she was even still alive—but then he heard her whine, ever so quietly, and knew he had to keep trying. She was still alive and Aningan refused to allow that to change; whilst a stranger she may be, he lacked even an ounce of cruelty in his body.

Abandoning the idea of digging the snow away from her, the male stepped forward until he was nearly standing over her. Gingerly, he reached for her scruff and, should she not resist, intended to pull her out of the snow and to the nearest shelter he might find; which, luckily for them, was not too terribly far off. There was a den nearby, abandoned by an unknown beast, that he happened to spot on the trip over. If he could just make it there and get her out of the elements, he hoped it might better her chances of survival. But, as it was, the process was a slow one—and so he tried tugging her upward, attempting to encourage her to stand and, if she had the energy, walk along with his assistance.