A soft whine broke the silence. The cub. Long wiped his mouth and forced himself upright, biting back a groan at the pain slicing through his chest. He turned to see the little white wolf limping towards him from where it had been tossed. It favored its bandaged leg, and one of its ears was cut and bleeding now too, but it was alive. The cub's eyes were wide, not with fear of him, but with concern. It approached and sniffed at Long's knee, where his robe was torn and soaked red. Long managed a weak smile. Even after witnessing the horrific spectacle, the creature still came to him.
"I'm... alright," he rasped, though he was far from it. Slowly, he extended a hand. The cub sniffed his bloody fingers, then, to his surprise, it licked them tentatively, as if trying to clean the wounds. Long felt a sting from the contact, but also an unexpected warmth blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with injury. The wolf cub's simple gesture of care cut through the numbness of his shock.
Exhaustion weighed on Long heavily now, each limb as heavy as iron. He knew he needed to tend his wounds soon, but first they had to get away from this grisly clearing. The stench of the demon's corpse and the sect cultivator's remains would surely draw other scavengers or worse. And he had no strength left for another fight.
Gently, he scooped the cub into his arms. It whimpered but did not struggle, apparently trusting him now. Its fur was warm against his side, sticky with blood in places but comforting all the same. Long staggered over to where he had dropped his pack earlier by the fallen branch. His vision swam for a moment; he paused, taking a steadying breath. Focus. One step at a time.
He managed to sling the pack over his shoulder and then, cradling the cub, Long limped away from the site of carnage. Each step was agony, but he grit his teeth and forced himself onward. The mist mercifully thickened, drawing a veil over the horrors left behind.
After some time - it could have been minutes or hours – Long found a small hollow at the base of a large willow by a creek. He nearly collapsed under the drooping veil of willow branches, which formed a little sheltered alcove from the wind. Here, the ground was covered in soft moss. He gently set the wolf cub down. It looked up at him and let out a soft, questioning yip. Long hushed it softly, stroking its fur with a blood-stained hand. "We're safe... for now," he murmured, hoping it was true.
His own wounds could not be ignored any longer. With shaking hands, he shrugged off his outer robe and tunic. Three long gashes raked across his chest, not too deep thankfully - the beast's claw had lost some force after being injured, otherwise he might have been torn open completely. Still, they bled freely and burned. From his pack he drew a small pouch with powdered herbs and a waterskin. He cleaned the wounds as best he could, biting down on a stick to endure the pain, and packed them with the herbs to stave off infection. The cub watched him intently, head tilted with curiosity or concern – perhaps both.
When he finished binding his chest with strips of cloth torn from a spare shirt, Long slumped back with a sigh. The light was fading; through the willow's concealing curtain, he could see the ravine growing dim, twilight creeping in. He knew they should move further from the demon's corpse, perhaps find higher ground or truly exit the ravine, but his body refused. At least for tonight, this hidden hollow would have to suffice.
The cub sniffed at a particularly deep scratch on Long's forearm, then circled twice and settled at his side. Despite its earlier ferocity, it was just a frightened, exhausted infant. It pressed its small body against Long's hip, seeking warmth. Long carefully put an arm around it, mindful of its wounded leg and swollen eye. The wolf pup let out a long sigh through its nose, and for the first time since he found it, closed its remaining good eye as if to drift into sleep.
Long leaned his head back against the willow's trunk. Pain throbbed through him, but he found a grim contentment in having survived, in having saved this one fragile life. As darkness fell, the ravine seemed almost peaceful. The mist turned silvery under the rising moonlight. A chorus of distant night insects tentatively began, as if to confirm that the nightmare had truly ended.
With the cub warm against him, Long's own eyelids grew heavy. He fought to stay awake a while longer, listening for any threats in the night. But his body was at its limit. His mind, too, felt frayed - torn between triumph and terror at what he had done. Eventually, weariness won. Long drifted into a fitful sleep, one arm still protectively around the slumbering wolf cub.