Alain nods, gritting his teeth against the sharp agony of his broken leg - which has come awake as he stands, and is clamouring for all his attention - and taking the rope from Roland, all business now. He doesn't hurry; hurry is fatal in a situation like this, and he always did err on the side of caution. He takes a moment to weigh the makeshift rope in his hand before casting it up over the branch. His aim is true, although there's a sickening moment when it snags on the way back down and he thinks he may have to draw it back and try again.

By now the wolf is close. He can see its eyes cast amber in the firelight, the hulking shape of it in the darkness. Any moment now, it'll tire of circling, and strike. Clenching his jaw, Alain winds the rope around one arm and starts to climb, forcing himself to focus entirely on the climbing and not on Roland or the wolf. "If you grab the rope," he says, not slowing, "if you can keep hold, I can haul you up." If he can get to the branch in time.