They were surprisingly one in the same. Half of the reason he was there right now, willing to fight despite being so untrained and guided was because he wanted to prove himself. He wanted nothing more than to be useful, to belong, even if he already did those things unknowingly. Just being a coyote and being loyal had most likely been more than enough, as well as his propensity to learn and grow. But for Hezekiah, it wasn’t enough. The want for more had budded sharply like a infestation of creeping ivy; it drove him just as hard as the desire to protect the only home that had ever wanted him.
So despite the blood that trickled down the side of his face, he hung on. He let the sound of Sicarus’s cry flood his ears. He fully expected what came next from the towering werewolf, so the pounding didn’t phase him nearly as much. It was a reaction, simple as that, simple enough that Hezekiah couldn’t have possibly blamed him for swinging wildly had he been an outside viewer. But from where he was on his shoulder, it was incredibly easy to be dead weight — roughly a hundred pounds of dead weight, for that matter — and he gladly took those hits.
Sicarus would have to tear him from his skin.