Author's Notes: Written for the "Dief" challenge at ds_flashfiction. Thanks to gurrier for beta.

I'm faster than him--that's the thing. When we are hunting together like this, I can become carried away with the grace and economy of my body and forget why I am here. My world narrows and the prey is everything. If he is left behind, so much the better--I will take a larger share of our reward.

But those are the thoughts of a wolf. My first thought ought to be of him, Ben, the human I was spared to protect. It is the deal I made with them, when I was new to the world and didn't know any better--a half-breed pup in a hunter's hole, begging my ancestors for help. I did not expect to be answered. When Amoroq came loping out of the bedrock, I cowered in the corner and pissed on my own paws. When he told me they would give me my life if I would agree to spend it in their service, what could I do but bare my neck in consent?

Amoroq grinned at me, then. I closed my eyes, felt his hot breath in my fur as his teeth pricked the skin on the back of my neck. He didn't eat me, though. He picked me up and shook me hard. When the dizziness eased, I was alone in the dark again. But things had changed inside my head. I had the thoughts of my body still, wolf-thoughts, the language of scents and instinct. But over those was something new. In the years since then, I have learned to call it logic.

It is this logic that allows me to override my instinct now, to turn from the fleeing prey and go back for my ward. I'm not surprised to find him cornered--he has a way of always ending up in the midst of the worst of the trouble. This time, it is two men we overlooked. Packmates of the one who got away. They have guns on my ward but they have not yet shot him. Humans do not like to kill eachother. At the most crucial times, many will hesitate.

I am not human. I let instinct take me over, feel my muscles bunch and release, taste blood and metal on my tongue. The one under me is disabled. Ben has the other one. I hear the distant pop that means a gun has gone off, but I know he has not been injured. I smell the fear of him, but the thrill is stronger. He has won his fight too. We grin at each other. "Good boy," he says, and I am not insulted: this is how he tells me he is pleased.

"You too," I yip back at him. But he doesn't hear me--the other one is coming now, the light-haired one. My partner. We watch as he runs toward us, gun drawn. He smells of fear and rage in equal measures. He thinks our ward has been shot.

"It's all right," I tell him, "He's safe."

Of course he needs to see it for himself. He can't smell Ben's heartbeat like I can, so he kneels in front of him, running his hands over Ben's flanks, checking for gun-holes.

Ben pulls away. He wants to mate with this one and wanting things makes him uncomfortable. This is part of what is damaged in him: his logic is swollen and speaks too loudly. It is forever drowning out the voice of his body.

I have been trying to teach him balance since the day that I met him, but he is stubborn as a deer-tick about some things. Abruptly I decide that now is the time for a more direct approach. I leap over the one I brought down and shove Ben hard with my rump. He was crouched on his toes and balanced precariously; he goes over with a satisfying yelp.

My partner catches him. Humans touch with hands where a wolf would use teeth; I smell the sharp spike of their mingled lust. They are speaking to eachother now, and Ben is being still. The light-haired one has his head bent low. I can't hear what they are saying, but it doesn't really matter. I've done what I can. I turn my back on them and bare my teeth at our prey to keep them silent. They are frightened of me and obey. This, too, is as it should be. I rest on my haunches and grin.