My hands were full of blood. The bullet had pierced my stomach. I was entirely out of danger; I could feel the beginnings of internal healing. And it wasn't as if I'd never been shot before. Venturing out as a wolf had its risks. “Arvel, it's okay,” I said, trying to prevent things from getting worse.
Arvel had a furious look on his face and was now squeezing the boy's throat harder. Then, with great effort, he tried to draw his gun, but Arvel broke his hand before he could make any significant movement. His screams were heard; he was in pain. The other boys were trying to think of something they could do, but they knew what awaited them. I took a deep breath and called out to Arvel. “Don't do anything else, Arvel; they've already understood,” I said, getting up from the floor, already re
