Chapter Text
She feels the sting of a sharp pebble under her arm, and that's a good sign.
The paralyzing venom is slowly wearing off and their limbs are beginning to cooperate, but it isn't just their own bodies they may need to move to safety. The leader of the small pack of small raptors crawls to where her smallest packmate is lying on her side in a spreading, red puddle.
Squeak is alive. Because of her, all four of them are, and the green creature twitching next to her won't be for much longer. Most of the blood on the ground is their attacker's, but as a steady trickle down her face and pumping out of her side with every spasming breath, hers is joining in. She hasn't been bitten, but she hasn't gotten up.
She doesn't make a sound when their snouts touch, but her eyes focus and she returns the nudge.
The scent of blood could attract bigger predators, and they should not stay in this place out in the open for longer than they have to. Dash-and-slash has gotten her legs mostly upright, and can manage an unsteady walk. She is free to save herself and hide. No one could blame her, or Dare for crawling after her.
After a look at their surroundings, both Dash and Dare make their way to their packmates instead.
The leader of the pack gives Squeak another nudge, when her eyes begin to close. As carefully as she can in her state, she licks away most of the blood around the gash torn into Squeak's face, and puts her own head on top of the smaller hatchling's, making sure not to cover the nostrils as she presses down with more than just her weight.
Dash lies down next to Squeak and leans their sides together. She gets a sharp gurgle in response when she forgets it's the same side the broken leg is on. The sound is weak, but at least it's a growl. Dare supports Squeak's other side, turned to look where the other three would have a bllind spot, as Dash adjusts her position so she puts pressure on the wounds and not on the leg.
Silently, they wait—for the venom to wear off, for the bleeding to stop, and for the creature who tried to hunt the four of them to turn into food.
They spend the next weeks startling at every noise and making extra sure to be silent and to walk through water to cut off their scent trail. They make a nest of a small hollow in a tree's roots, a space barely big enough for two of them at a time and getting smaller as they grow, and not so much a home as somewhere for Squeak to stay hidden while the rest of them hunt, until her leg heals. For the first week her head wound reopens so easily she can't bite down on her food, so the others tear pieces from prey and feed them to her.
At night two of them at a time stay hidden but outside the hollow, keeping watch. One of them keeps Squeak warm, and sleeps.
Dare relieves the head of the pack of her watch shift halfway through the night, and she crawls into the nest to curl up around her injured packmate, settling in for her turn to rest. Rest is all Squeak is doing for now, but she is awake enough to move and make room.
She carefully noses at Squeak's head wound, finding it clean and dry, then at her small snout, huffing a breath of warm air between them. They stay silent, waiting for sleep.
She doesn't ask or wonder if Squeak regrets saving them and gaining more injuries by doing so. She knows she would not have had any choice, as alone she wouldn't have lived for much longer than them with a broken leg, even if the green creatures had let her escape. She needs her pack, as her only chance of survival, and that is perfectly sensible.
She doesn't ask herself if she regrets saving Squeak, by bringing her along from their hatching nest, or by protecting and caring for her now. They all need their pack. That, too, is perfectly sensible.