Once Pyre had gotten the wolf back to camp, he checked it over for injury and to get a good look at its brilliant silver fur. Feeling its thick muscle, it's exceedingly soft fur. After all, it's not every day a person gets to pet a wolf. The fur was so soft he almost couldn't pull his hand away as it sent small nice feeling tingles through his hand.
Eventually reaching its wound, having nothing else to use to pull out the bullet, Pyre scrunched up his face, reached in, ignoring his own apprehensions, and pulled out what appeared to be a silver bullet from the rather large wound.
Pyre looked at the bullet confused, "Why silver? Was it just a design choice or something more?" he'd asked himself, confused. At an even closer glance, it even had what appeared to be a maker's mark. Tossing the bullet to the side, Pyre sighed and grabbed a bunch of usnea and balsam fur sap and used it on the wound before sitting back and relaxing. He didn't really think much of the bullet.
After all, what were the chances he'd run into such a magnificent being as those he'd wished for so long to meet? Silver wasn't so strange anyways, considering the guy was hunting outside of hunting territory, if they were illegally hunting it wouldn't be so strange that they'd have special designs for their weapons or ammunition.
In the end, Pyre decided not to go back into his tent for now, keeping an eye on it. For some reason, he couldn't help but stay close to the beast. The urge was strong, and Pyre figured it was due to his kind-hearted nature. Knowing what he knew about wolves, he didn't sleep either, just in case the beast woke up and decided to attack him, because he knew a wolf could see his sleeping as weak and immediately attack him.
Pyre knew about the whole loyalty thing if he'd saved its life, but since it was unconscious, there was a very real possibility it didn't know that he had saved it and would attack him. As the curtains of dusk drew near, Pyre heard some angry, possibly violent growling and snarling. It's pack! He'd thought, How could I have been so stupid? Of course its pack would've come looking for it. He had begun quickly backing away from the campsite.
For some unknown reason, the whole 'wolves have packs' thing had completely slipped his mind until just now, but then he had a second thought. Where was the howl? Surely its scent would have been stronger than mine, yes? If there were more wolves, bigger than this one, there was no way Pyre could fight them off with a simple wooden spear, and he couldn't climb trees either, so his options were limited.
He could either run and hope to find some way to slow them down before they could catch up to him, or pray that an act of submission would save his life; for now, though, he stuck to backing away, albeit rather quickly in attempt to keep their 'chase and attack' instinct at bay for as long as possible hopefully they'll check out the wolf and wouldn't see him as a threat or as prey.
There was also the possibility of making himself appear larger than them. However, there was the question of how, how would Pyre do such a thing? And here, he was back to square one. The wolves growled low and menacing. With each step back they took two steps forward. He held out his makeshift spear, the tip facing the beasts.
He didn't want to hurt them unless he had to. He would never forgive himself were he to kill one. It was a wolf after all, a magnificent beast in his eyes, a being leagues above him. Yet Pyre knew in his heart of hearts, it was the survival of the fittest, him or them, and regardless of his mental conflictions, if he had to fight, if he had to kill them, he would, if he didn't have to, he wouldn't, and Pyre prayed for the latter.
Suddenly, he heard a loud growl from where he'd left the silver wolf. He looked next to the fire where the wolf he had helped was, and it was no longer lying there unconscious. There she stood growling low and menacing, almost angrily at the group of wolves that had been closing in. Pyre had, of course, taken this as his chance to flee, turning and sprinting away as fast as he could, as if his life depended on it, because, as far as he was concerned, it did.