The Ease of Breathing
Two
Von keeps them close to the brook, not bothering to mark trees, not gnawing at the bark.
Vic's blood is leaving trail enough.
Von keeps whimpering, feeling the burn in his paw, the pain paralleled to Vic's hand. Added with the wind and frost, it makes them both move slower.
The wolf pushes at Vic's legs, keeping his boy moving. He senses the cold creeping into both of them, but he won't allow the bitterness to crust their skin with ice. He won't let them stop moving.
He licks Vic's hand when the boy starts losing his footing, when he senses the boy is getting lightheaded. It gives Vic a reminder that there's still hope, and gives Von his own reminder: Vic is still bleeding, the red liquid freezing fast in the cracks of his dry, dark skin.
Von hears the crunch of snow and snaps his teeth on the sleeve of Vic's sweatshirt (being carful not to nip at the boy's wrist of course.) They stop, stilling their movements, but Vic's breathing is heavy enough, labored enough that it could be heard from yards away.
The puffs of carbon dioxide dissipate quickly, and Vic wishes they could take shelter behind them, or disappear like them for a few moments. He doesn't keep wishing because the pain in his hand consumes all his thoughts, and he's back to panting, wincing.
Neither of them are in condition to protect themselves, not with the blistering pain of on-coming frostbite, and the pulsing pinch caused by Vic's wound.
They can't run. They can't hide.
Vic just falls to his knees, one arm slumped around Von, more for comfort than protection.
Vic's blood is leaving trail enough.
Von keeps whimpering, feeling the burn in his paw, the pain paralleled to Vic's hand. Added with the wind and frost, it makes them both move slower.
The wolf pushes at Vic's legs, keeping his boy moving. He senses the cold creeping into both of them, but he won't allow the bitterness to crust their skin with ice. He won't let them stop moving.
He licks Vic's hand when the boy starts losing his footing, when he senses the boy is getting lightheaded. It gives Vic a reminder that there's still hope, and gives Von his own reminder: Vic is still bleeding, the red liquid freezing fast in the cracks of his dry, dark skin.
Von hears the crunch of snow and snaps his teeth on the sleeve of Vic's sweatshirt (being carful not to nip at the boy's wrist of course.) They stop, stilling their movements, but Vic's breathing is heavy enough, labored enough that it could be heard from yards away.
The puffs of carbon dioxide dissipate quickly, and Vic wishes they could take shelter behind them, or disappear like them for a few moments. He doesn't keep wishing because the pain in his hand consumes all his thoughts, and he's back to panting, wincing.
Neither of them are in condition to protect themselves, not with the blistering pain of on-coming frostbite, and the pulsing pinch caused by Vic's wound.
They can't run. They can't hide.
Vic just falls to his knees, one arm slumped around Von, more for comfort than protection.