Everything reeked of blood and infection. It was the payment he'd made to return home. He could have run, and perhaps he should have made a circle, but this time he couldn't turn his tail. He knew he couldn't really take them all on his own, but he'd had to try. In the end he'd managed to hurt enough of them badly enough that he could make a break for home. The cost was high.
He could hear them following behind, waiting for him to collapse. He could hear their quiet footsteps and their howls at night when he tried to stop. He was forced to push on. This time he was walking up, struggling up the mountain towards his family instead of following the slope of the earth downwards into the unknown. He wondered if he would actually make it back or if they would find his body, savaged by coyotes, beyond their borders. He wondered if they would find him at all.
He couldn't rest. He couldn't stop and eat or drink. His legs shook and he stumbled every few steps when he failed to properly lift his heavy paws. Each step sent agony lancing through the gashes along his flank, and his rear leg didn't seem to want to hold his weight. He was ready to collapse, but he was oh, so close.
Finally, finally, the scent of home tickled at his nose, somehow managing to make it through the reek of his own illness. He somehow managed to push himself the last short distance over the border before the earth sucked him down, where he was not strong enough to escape its hold. He couldn't even muster the breath to call for help. He hoped the pack scent would be enough to hold the coyotes, though they would easily be able to see him on the other side. His sides heaved as he gasped for air. He would not die here. He could not.
l