I knew I had not been imagining things. Though the sound of the other being that walked in the woods with me this day ceased when my movement stopped, it only required another moment or so of patience before the source revealed itself. Or himself, rather. I caught the dull gold gaze of the dark wolf just before he emerged from the trees. He was large, and dark of pelt, which had allowed him to blend easily with the long shadows of the early morning trees. I noticed the slight inclination of his head, the way he tilted it slightly in one direction; but I thought little of it. It is the deep, rumbling baritone that he emits that holds my attention, catches my interest. I did not feel threatened by him, despite his slightly taller stature and significantly heavier weight. For a moment I simply stood, mahogany eyes watching the golden pools that stared back at me with almost no interest reciprocated whatsoever. Rather than pardon myself or make conversation with a wolf who clearly did not desire it, I simply shifted myself so as to allow room for him to pass me on the trail I followed if that was what he so desired. But my eyes never left his, always watching him.

It was only when the sharp, panicked call of a wolf lifted on the breeze that I broke my eye contact with the male. I looked to the north, from whence the call echoed forth. It was clearly meant for someone, but what if that someone wasn’t around? This wolf was in trouble, and I would not leave her to whatever struggle she faced. I turned swiftly, my lithe figure allowing me to pivot and immediately dash away from the male, sprinting towards the source. I flitted through the trees; ears laced back to improve aerodynamics as I made my way towards the wolf who had called out for help. I heard the footfalls of another, but did not look to see if the large male had given chase, or if perhaps the wolf that the call had been meant for was moving to answer as well. I just knew I was not alone in my race to answer the call.

Whether I reached the area first, or the other wolf, mattered not. I slowed as I approached the cover of foliage that did little to disguise the scent of blood. Immediately I glanced around my surroundings, making sure no menacing wolves or other predators of the forest had descended upon the scene. When I knew it was safe, I moved slowly towards the dense underbrush the shewolf had hidden herself in. A soft whine was emitted, hoping to let the wolf within know that I meant no harm. When no answer was given, I listened closely and heard the soft mewling of a pup. My ears pricked forward alertly. I took another step closer and pushed my head through the curtain of flora so that I might look upon her. The sight I was met with made my eyes grow wide. I had never been present for another’s birthing, but I knew something was not right here. The child suckled at her mother’s teats, but the mother was still, quiet, and I could barely see the rise and fall of her side that ensured she was alive. And the blood. There was a lot of it. Surely that meant something was wrong.

I withdrew, trying to remember what Meryl and Ceal had used to staunch her own bleeding. Meryl had said something about cotton being the best. But I had no blooming clue what cotton looked like. What had Ceal brought to begin with? Moss! Well, surely that couldn’t be so hard to find. I moved back the way I had come, towards the swampier bits of the woodland. And of course I was rewarded with a plethora of moss, growing on trees and rocks. I unceremoniously grabbed a large patch at its corner and peeled it from the tree, hoping to keep it in one large section. It came off in three bits, but I was still able to grab it all in my mouth and bring it back to the site of the misshapen birthing.

When I reached her once more, I paid little mind to whether any other wolves were around. I moved to help her in the only way I knew how. I dropped the pieces of moss, then picked a single patch up and moved to her hindquarters – clearly the source of the bleeding. Gingerly, I placed the moss between her hindquarters and then nudged it lightly with my nose, hoping to press it into the wound. When that piece was completely soaked with blood, I carefully removed it and replaced it with another, until I thought that the bleeding might be slowing. Then I left the last bits of moss where I had placed them and stepped back, observing the child. I could only hope that I had done enough, learned enough, to save her mother.