Switched POV

    He watched without much emotion, his dusty brown, longhaired pelt swept and ruffled from recent attacks. The broad shouldered male slunk back into the shade of the thorn wall, guilt prickling through his very existence, pity as well. This group didn't deserve to be wiped out, why couldn't they make a peaceful translation somehow and deal it out in a fair fight? His ear twitched in frustration, he longed to help, assist the pitifully cowering Little-Claws.
     He watched as his brethren struck down the smaller kits, keeling over, and the eldest, breathing their final breath. It couldn't be, it wasn't right. There had to be someway he could make it up to this tiny, fluffy species...
The tall figure scanned the meadow, sun leaving it golden stained and shadows prominent on the ground below; there were Little-Claws in the trees... No way to help them... The unconscious little pup belonging to the former owners of the territory was still on the ground, long abandoned, too far away to tell if a breath stirred in his flank at all. Under the rubble perhaps... his amber eyes narrowed in effort, hoping to spot a tail and ear tip sticking out of the messy, collapsed debris of dens, nothing near the fallen log; he himself had toppled it over when he slipped on one of the big stones. Then, finally, his sights landed on a small paw, a little white one the proper size to match the fallen russet victim from before, it was edged out of the fallen screens of what seemed to be some sort of herbal collection den.
     On mental clue, with whiskers flattened, careful to look like one of the fellow attackers as he strode unconfidently over to the pile. He bent down, using his long muzzle to push away the rather light but prickly broken barrier and shove it off of where the little creature was stuck, or hiding. This revealed their head, small, fuzz still clinging to their ear tips like a newborn pup in his pack. It's eyes were closed, scrunched tight, it had to be alive! More elated but worried that his kin may be watching, the stocky wolf edged another series of sticks and sage intwined with vines in such a manner he had to admire its craftsmanship, off of her. This releasing her, a stirring breath shuddering throughout her body.
     "Alive!" He murmured thankfully, gently snagging his front teeth along her scruff, trusting that much of anatomy was similar to his own kind. Thankfully, this worked, but unfortunately gained the attention of his sister.
The dusty brown she-wolf whirled around, eyes wide with surprise and hints of betrayal escaping them, her lip still curled and paws wet with bloodstains. Behind her was the mangled corpse of a pale, thin little-claw that had gone down fighting against the others by her side. "Brother! What are you doing?!"
His ears flattened anxiously, tail tucking as he found his paws dragging himself slowly towards the exit, although certain with the right momentum, he could exit anywhere he pleased.
"Runt! Weak! Saving the enemy!" She taunted angrily, hackles raising as the wolves around her nodded in support. "Put down the Little-Claw now and alpha will let you off easy!"
     "No!" He declared with false boldness, legs wobbling and eyes dilated with stress, "That's heartless, Magpie, they're only pups!"
     "The Big-Claws kicked us out of our mountain the same way!" Magpie responded with a lashing tail, and leapt forwards at him.
     Conveniently enough, the runtish opposer was by the two rocks, far enough to give him a head start before the fellow pack mates at the entrance had time to lock the antagonist into mind. 'Traitor... that's what I am!' He howled in his mind, how could his very belief, his only training, be shaken by the mere existence of a helpless prey? It didn't feel right! Yet he couldn't bring himself to surrender the bundle of fur handing by its scruff in his mouth.
"Get back here, Sparrow!!" Yowled his sister, gaining up on him, flanked by her lackeys; being lead hunter.
     He widened his toes, grasping the earth with them, propelling himself farther and farther, faster, faster, until he had to keep himself from panting, in which case he'd loose hold of his objective. The bramble entrance bobbed in his view, until Sparrow found himself forcing through it, a mental wall that dared him to cross, throwing chance of a kin and friend surrounded life behind him as they wiped out the victims.
     He plunged across into the forest, shade of the oaks and maple roof  eliminating the yellow beams pouring fourth from the sky to little dapples across the underbrush. 'I crossed the barrier. I just threw away an opportunity. I'm not going home to brag of my adventure. I'm not going to sleep besides my packmates. I'm not going to speak with Magpie or Flower ever again, it's over. It's done. I'm giving a perfect life up for a white pelted little-claw.'
     Sparrow's ears alerted them that the pursuers had stopped, not leaving their newly conquered camp and going out of assignment, which was forbidden. He supposed they'd move on quickly and not care what happened, not care he left, or betrayed the entire purpose of a canines being. Still yet, he rushed and ran across the path and darted left, to circle around the meadow, for going 'north' as adventurers and loners called it, was death. That was too the mountains, that was towards the even larger beasts than he could even aspire to be. Those beasts had overrun the Pack of Falling Rivers, they truly lived up to their name. They had fallen in spirit and in moral, he had to leave.
In his jaws, he felt the warm body of the little-claw twitch in awaking.
'Alive...'