Oh God what had he done! Minos couldn't believe that his dear friend was now flailing on the ground and all because of his uncontrollable desire to play. Such a thing was dangerous, and he needed to gain composure and control of his unruly nature. Maybe he would be okay, survive this fall. Of course he hadn't fallen down a cliff, such a thing would have been much worse. In the milliseconds that had passed Mino could not smell blood, but he knew of those that did not bleed and still perished a horrible, horrible, excruciatingly horrible demise. His friend spoke, still moving and fighting for life. Minos backed up, giving the poor creature air.
He was trying to rise, and the white wolf almost wanted to discourage it. He needed to stay put in case his insides were jumbled or something. His head lowered, smelling to see if he was beginning to rot as ill things seemed to do. He smiled, and Minos cocked his head in confusion. And then! The coyote popped up and tagged him. The pack-wolf stood in disbelief, watching as the coyote ran away. Then slowly he began to follow. He trot grew to a sprint. What a trickster! The thought brought a harder faster run and Mino tried to catch up with him.