He lay awake, propped on an elbow, while he picked over his nails slow, considering, speculating, his eyes dry and sleepless. Somewhere outside, he swore he could hear the occasional soft sound of Twelve's snoring. He wet his lips, drawing that tongue against his wiry whiskers, before his pallid green eyes slipped over to Evelyn's shape, unsure if she was asleep or not. Santiago didn't want to leave her alone - and he was sure she hated it, though they shared the amiable silence in their grief. He could see her ear twitch mildly, and he could feel his chest tighten a moment from the small movement, hearing her wail that day on echo on his mind's loop.
He'd failed her.
He'd failed Calhoun, and his memory ventured back to the foolish hope and prospect that they hadn't been followed so far north, how sure he'd felt. How foolish. How naive.
A cry, low and sweeping, split the air. A stranger. A wolf.
His brow knit at a commotion, a shout, and the scream of a horse, Bruni's keening high and thin over the others, and there was the telltale thunder of hoof beats. Like a shot, Santiago's hands shot out to Evelyn with disregard for her slumber, and pulled the small coyote from his tent with an alarmed noise - and within hardly a heartbeat, the two of them sprawled on the ground, his own body coiled over hers to protect out of sheer instinct, the compulsion, Vegas had tore through the old canvas, flattening it while she peeled away into the darkness.
"Shit" he hissed, ducking his head as Bruni jumped over the two coyotes curled onto the ground, Santiago crushing Evelyn's shape to his ribs while his heart pounded loudly.