Leona spun at the voice of a man. “Hey! Uh . . . can you help me out? Hate to say, it’s still a new injury. Thanks to that good ol’ war . . .” Leona made a face at the mention of the war. She hurried to help.
“No problem,” she replied as she helped him stand. “I’m Leona; what’s your name?” She scraped some snow up to pack it around the male’s injury as gently as she could. She noticed the pink tie connecting to his chest. “Goodness, who did this?!” She grimaced at the sight of his leg, the bottom half torn clean off. It was a gruesome sight. If that was a war wound . . .
Of course, she’d seen far worse on the battlefield. Jack had had his stomach shredded open. A wolf from Hawthorne had had her wings and neck brutally shattered. But still. Leona was fairly sure she’d never want to see blood again. Snow swirled into her eyes; wind bashed at her body. She blinked the snowflakes out of her face. The line twanged against her leg. “I think we better get out of the cold. That storm makes me uneasy, with us being on a mountain. Do you need help getting down?” she queried. It wasn’t that tough a descent, but the man’s leg had begun to bleed. He seemed like he was hurting. Leona couldn’t help but be worried. She turned her face against the howling wind. As she did so, it began to snow. It wreathed Leona’s fur in delicate confetti.

“No there’s nothing that I wouldn’t do; to make you feel my love.”