For a moment, it was as if time stood still. Sleekwing did not realize that he was holding his breath as he curled himself tightly around the sodden shewolf, trying to detect any signs of life. As he clung to the hope that he had not been too late, the ice off and to the side of where they lay in the snow groaned once more, seeming to lament the loss of the victim it had tried to claim. But Sleekwing barely heard the sound, for only seconds later the limp form of she who he had rescued tensed, a whining howl exploding from her maw as she began to thrash violently against his embrace. Oxygen flooded his lungs as he finally took a breath, relieved she was still alive. Every chivalrous signal went off in the guardian's mind to move away from her, to give her space; but he knew she still needed his warmth, and that without it she would only suffer all the more. And so he stayed put, taking a few jabbing kicks in his ribs and flailing paws to his face without so much as a flinch until finally the girl's form stilled.

Relaxation was swiftly followed by shivers that seemed to force her body into convulsions. This, Sleekwing knew, was good. It was her body trying to fight the cold, battling against the hypothermia that surely would have set in if it were not for the warmth of his body wrapped around her. But she remained tucked in on herself, seeking further shelter from the cold, and Sleekwing was content to simply remain as he was until she was ready to recognize what had happened to her and in fact was still happening to her. Surely it must have been quite a jolt to her system, and so he remained quiet and steady. The barest shift of her head saw his eyes draw to her face, getting his first glimpse of her finely marked face as she peered over her partially frozen pelt into his face. Her mismatched eyes of purple and blue fixated on his of cobalt blue ringed in lavender, and for a moment they simply stared at one another. A muffled, stuttered thank you was the first thing he heard her say, and he thought that the sound of her voice was a true gift in these moments, for it was another assurance that she was recovering from her ordeal.

A single dip of his snout was given, accompanied by a simple and genuine, "You are welcome," for he meant it. He knew nothing about this girl - who she was, where she came from, why she had wandered out onto the ice - but none of that mattered. She had been in trouble, her life threatened, and even if she was not pack she was just as deserving as the next wolf to be saved. If he had turned away when another was in need, it would have shattered every principle he had been raised upon. The two cream spots above her eyes pulled together as her eyes clenched shut against a strong shiver, but as it passed she looked into his eyes once more and asked him who he was. "My name is Sleekwing," he replied, concern edging in around his features as he looked back at her. The wetness and cold were obvious problems to which he hoped he was successfully addressing and caring for. But what if she had been otherwise injured during the accident that had taken her through the ice? "Who are you?" he asked calmly in return, thinking this was one of the simplest ways to discern if she'd had some kind of head injury. "Do you remember what happened?" Sometimes, in cases of trauma during a hunt - like a severe kick from an angry elk - wolves would come to and not really realize what had happened to them. Did she know she had fallen through the lake's surface? And he couldn't help but wonder...why had she been out there in the first place?