The sight that met me upon my entrance to the den almost stopped me in my tracks. A snarl distorted his face and saliva bubbled between exposed fangs. It was a side of him I had never seen, but beneath it all he was still Jericho, and I went to him. Before I even made contact with him silence engulfed the air, a cease fire called within his mind, though from what I could not be sure. To me it did not matter, I wanted only to offer him the comfort he had given me for these months we had spent together. He pulled himself into my embrace, clutching at me and for a second the spectacle I had seen only seconds before was forgotten. My heart fluttered and my stomach was awash with a warmth I had not known in many moons. I closed my eyes, burying my nose in his ruff and breathing him in, filling my lungs with his scent. Only then did I lift my snout to his ear and whisper his name, pulling back slightly as I questioned what was the matter. But my eyes did not meet his; instead his orange eyes fill once more with panic as they drop to my muzzle and throat and chest. I hardly had time to process it was the blood of my kill he was seeing before his lips pulled back once more.

I was taken aback by this wolf who stood before me, but I was not fearful of him. In the year that had passed since our first meeting I had often wondered how my sweet Jer could possibly have garnered so many scars upon that gentle face of his. But now as ferocity bubbled to the surface, those mars upon his face seemed all too perfectly placed. My brows pulled together in confusion and concern, and then words began to tumble forth from those snarling lips. It was not the stumbling voice of the wolf who I had met along the riverbanks – a stutter he had lost the more time we had spent together. No, this was a voice filled with rage and laced with sorrow. “Jer,” I tried to interject, but he kept on. And before I could say another word he pierced me with a look that I had only seen once before. A sadness so all consuming that it gripped my heart and threatened to rip it out all over again. The last time I had seen that look was in my reflection, staring down into the springs of the valley in the wake of my parent’s deaths. A loss I had blamed myself for; for not being strong enough to fight in Moonglow place, for not being able to heal them, for all my shortcomings. I inhaled deeply through my nostrils, reminding myself that I had personally rid these lands of Purge, and then his touch brought me back.

The blood seeped into the scars on his face, painting his muzzle a dark, wet color. And then he turned away from me, towards the entrance of the den, pain filled eyes searching for something – someone – that wasn’t there. Confidently I moved to his side, knowing that whatever turmoil racked his mind he would not lash out at me. I pressed my shoulder against his. “He’s not here, Jericho; I’m fine. Everything’s ok.” But his eyes searched the woods for whatever ghost was haunting him, and he spoke of losing one named Orra. In such a moment as this I could not believe that jealousy surged in my heart, wondering if she had been his mate, for him to care so deeply that such a loss woke him in the middle of the night. But I repressed the thought; knowing that words would not be enough, that only actions had calmed him at first and only actions would calm him now.

I pushed past his blockade at the cave’s entrance, emerging into the moonlight and taking no more than a few steps to where the grass was still somewhat lush. Promptly I rolled onto the ground, rubbing my face and throat and chest against the ground. I tossed back and forth and pulled my paws over my face until the grass was a ruddy color, and then I stood. Hurrying back to him I heard the words that finally made me pause. I stopped before him, eyes wide and ears pricked forward, barely the breadth of a feather between our noses. He cared? Well, of course he cared, or he would not have always been so close at hand, helped me raise my pups, looked out for me when I could not look out for myself. But the way he said the word, it held so much more meaning than it ever could have.

“Look at me, Jer. It’s ok, I’m ok.” My voice almost held a note of pleading, wanting him to truly look at me and see that there was no wound, that the blood had not been my own. Only then would I slowly begin to lick at his face, tongue washing away the crimson he had rubbed into his own fur. Even when it was gone I continued, caressing each scar, wishing to calm the demons that ran rampant in his mind.