The bush in front of him bristled and shook, and every inch of him felt tight, as if every breath coiled his body harder, preparing to spring. He knew that he would not get far if he chose to run again, but a fight would not end in his favor either. Still, he inched back, tucking his legs beneath him, trying to tell himself that he would be ready for whatever it was that was about to show itself.<br/><br/>And then... nothing happened.<br/><br/>For a tense moment, he quieted, ears slowly lifting so he could listen. The rustling gave way to the foliage parting, just enough for the muzzle of another wolf to appear before him. On impulse, he snarled again, jolting back a little, but his body ached as a reminder of the distance he had traveled and the wounds he had yet to even attempt to take stock of. But the approaching wolf did not seem like a threat, nor did he smell like one. There was a scent that hung over his fur of charred wood, fresh air, and-- more importantly, more wolves.<br/><br/><i>A pack. <br/>
</i><br/>Relief allowed him to relax, if only a little. He whined back, lowered his ears again; this time in absolute submission. He was far too tired to attempt a change-- to bend and have his bones crackle and shift sounded like more than he could bare. Instead, he rolled onto his back, exposing his dust covered belly for the other wolf to see that he was no threat to him. He hoped, at least, that this wolf had no intention of driving him away so quickly. He<i>needed</i>a pack-- he needed their help.