Marlowe
Preacher and Bear reached us within minutes, drawn by the chaos of the retreating Blackfang riders and the sight of their President down, and I stayed pressed against King's side the entire time, refusing to move even as Preacher's hands moved fast and urgent over the wound.
"He's alive," Preacher said, tight, focused, already working to stem the bleeding. "Breathing's shallow but steady. Need to get him to the medical tent, now."
Bear helped lift him, careful, urgent, and I followed at a run, still in wolf form, unable to shift back yet, unable to do anything except stay close and trust that the humans around us knew how to save what I couldn't fix myself.
By the time we reached the medical tent, some of the shock had worn thin enough that I felt the shift reverse on its own,
