Limp.
Chest rising and falling.
Limp… but unconscious.
Not dead.
Need to keep her alive.
Tear off my glove, press fingers to her neck.
Still a pulse, faint but there.
Relief floods me.
Strange lightness in my chest I can't place.
Not used to caring if prey lives or dies.
Not prey.
Omega.
Mine.
Not safe here.
Too cold.
I hoist her over my shoulder.
Her small body a dead weight against mine.
Weighs nothing.
A starved songbird.
Legs dangling, hair trailing behind us.
Like a banner.
Break into a loping stride.
Tearing through the forest.
Through the thorns.
Through brush.
Too much snow.
Too cold.
Not much time.
Need shelter.
Somewhere safe to hole up.