It took six wolf men to clean Torak.
Two held him upright, another supported his weight from behind, while the remaining three worked around his injuries.
It wasn't an easy task.
His body was covered in deep, angry marks of different sizes. They ran across his back, shoulders, chest and stomach, some long and narrow, others wide enough to make the surrounding flesh swell.
There were bruises beneath the marks, dark purple and almost black in places. Dried blood clung to his skin, particularly around his ribs and the lower part of his back.
The men had to be careful. Without an active wolf, even the slightest pressure made his muscles tighten.
He had stopped reacting to most of the pain, but that didn't mean he couldn't feel it. His body simply didn't have the strength to respond to everything anymore.
"Turn him slightly."
One of the men adjusted his grip.
Torak's head dropped forward.
"Careful," another warned. "His ribs."
"We're trying."
