He'd made his way to the river, where everyone wasn't, to get away from all the noise and all the emotion. His legs were shaking but he couldn't yet bring himself to recline, instead frozen on the bank and avoiding looking his reflection in the eyes. He needed quiet, needed time alone to sort out his thoughts and face what had happened, maybe even accept it. Would that be possible? What if they all found out, what if Sven didn't recover? What if they never trusted him again?
Scully wanted comfort, but didn't know who he could possibly turn to. Sven's need was far more pressing, even with the bleeding stoppered. He might never see again, and for once the greyscale boy could recognize his own selfishness in thinking he should be tended to over the pack's wounded alpha. It kept him here, isolated, pitying himself. Questioning everything.