Qeya River Lost

The tatkret walked along the edge of the fast-moving river, eyes watching as each chunk of ice moved with the water. He liked to dip his injured arm in when he pushed himself too far and it started throbbing again. It had been his plan today after spending hours following the herd of caribou with no luck finding a sick one he could pick off on his own.

But then the sounds of panicked splashing had him trotting farther down the bank. He arrived in time to see the top of a cinnamon colored head disappear under the water. Who in their right mind would be getting in the water right now? It was a death sentence. But as logical as the northern was, he couldn't just stand idly by and let the stranger drown. 

He would need to be careful how he went about this, or they would both be dead. The cold wouldn't bother him much, at least not at first, but the current would be tricky to maneuver around. His gaze searched the water and found a flash of sandy fur. Tuulu quickly dipped his head and front legs in and felt around with his nose until the unconscious wolf smacked into his head. It was then that he tasted the blood in the water and wondered if maybe they had fallen in. There was no time for thinking, though, only acting. He snapped around with his teeth until they grabbed a good hold of fur and skin. Digging in with his hind legs, he pulled back with all his strength. But the water was heavy, and it worked against him so much that he only managed to pull the stranger's face from the water. He steadied his grip again and pulled. His hind paws dug grooves in the frozen ground as he pulled against the water and the large form of the other wolf, and he slipped forward just a little. He growled in frustration and threw his weight backwards, his anger and adrenaline making him stronger than he might normally be. 

This time he managed to get his front legs back on the bank, and he barely even gave himself time to regroup before tugging the wolf again. His wound throbbed in protest, but he ignored it. He was almost there. Just one more hard pull and he had managed to get the soaked woman on the shore. 

He released her from his grip and sat down next to her to catch his breath. His sides heaved with each breath and when he had recovered a little, he looked down to inspect the stranger. She had gash on her head where blood oozed down her face and into the snow. 

Tuulu stood then and nudged her with his nose. When that did nothing to rouse her, he liked and nudged her face. He might be able to half carry, half drag her back to the glacier, but things would be much easier if he could get her up and walking. He worried he wouldn't have much time, though.