I drop to all fours the moment the trees open, claws digging into the earth as I race toward the river. My long forelimbs , strong, shaped like hands but tipped with curved claws, thud against the ground with practiced rhythm, while my hind legs, true wolf paws, spring and flex beneath me. When I reach the bank, I crouch low, ears perked, nose twitching. I wait. Listen. The moment a flash of silver breaks the surface, instinct takes me.

I plunge my muzzle into the cold water and come up with a wriggling fish clenched between my teeth. One hard crunch and it goes still. I toss it to the dirt and rip into it, swallowing it down before lunging for another. Two more disappear just as fast. Soon I’m half-submerged, forehands pressed into the mud while my muzzle snaps at the current. The chill feels good. The fullness feels better.

When I’ve eaten enough, I sit back on my haunches. One hind paw comes up, scratching under my ear in firm, satisfied strokes. Mmm. Good. The forest hums around me. My belly is full. My fur is damp. For a moment, the world makes sense.

After a few more moments enjoying the evening, I break into a run again, full speed, weaving between tree trunks and leaping over roots without thinking. The forest is home, and my body knows every path. My forehands slam into the dirt, claws gripping for speed, while my hind paws push me forward in powerful bursts. The air rushes past my ears in warm currents, carrying the familiar scent of my den somewhere ahead… but then-...

A scent. Sharp. Out of place. Human.

I skid, claws tearing a long line in the soil as I drop low, panting once, twice, nose lifting to test the air again. The smell of my den pulls at me, safe and warm somewhere beyond the ridge… but this new scent cuts across it like a threat. Strange. Wrong. New. My ears swivel forward, alert. I slow from a run to a stalk, each step silent, careful. I cannot ignore this. Not this close to home.

I skid, claws tearing a long line in the soil as I drop low, panting once, twice, nose lifting to test the air again. The smell of my den pulls at me, safe and warm somewhere beyond the ridge… but this new scent cuts across it like a threat. Strange. Wrong. New. My ears swivel forward, alert. I slow from a run to a stalk, each step silent, careful. I cannot ignore this. Not this close to home. My heart beats faster, though not fear, not yet, but caution. Humans do not come this deep. Not unless they want something.

Through the bushes, I see you. Collapsed. Unmoving. The scent of blood heavy around your leg. You’re no hunter, not with that wound. No trap. No weapon in your hands. Just… hurt. I tilt my head, ears canting forward. My steps are slow, deliberate, claws curling against the soil. When I'm close enough, I nudge your side with the edge of my muzzle. Gently, but ready to leap back if you move wrong.

I don’t know many human words. The ones I do feel clumsy in my throat. But I try.

“Human… hurt? …Awake?”