Dragoncrest Cliffs Widowmaker

Everything happens quickly enough that Thuringwethil can’t properly react until a pudgy puppy is thrown in her direction. She’d already been working to get up when Wildfire stepped out of the den a moment prior, but her ribs slowed her down before she got a chance to evaluate what was happening. She hardly gives her mate any attention as she scrambles to relocate Artaax and set him upright and shuffle close to her. He’s already squirming for comfort and she lowers her head to rhythmically lick his head, slate eyes aiming upward to try and figure out what the hell just happened. A few seconds tick by and she’s able to settle herself enough to occupy the pain in her ribs.

“Chon ona skafa daun?” she blurts without realizing the words coming out of her mouth. Concern laces her features but she can’t hide the irritation causing tension in her shoulders.