Blackfeather Woods revival

tagging @Cicero but open to all BWF wolves

vuk screamed.
vuk screamed at the blood upon her mouth, her chest, her eyes wide-staring and fixed at the jerking form of terich-mir, his throat ripped wide, the flesh of it between her teeth! oh, terich! terich! what had she done? the screaming went on and on until the she-wolf realized it was her own voice, rattling to the ragged end of its taper! and then there was darkness. obliteration. sleep.
the patchwork wolfess blinked up at the stone ceiling of the den, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of early dawn, her limbs feebly churning with the intensity of the memory that had finally roused her. where was this place? she did not speak, merely let her head loll from side to side as she drank in the details of the small room, lifted her thin muzzle to take its various scents.
her mouth seemed to be filled with ash, dry as it was; her eyes ached and she closed them tightly, a shudder running the length of her angular form. what had she done? it was the inquiry that reverberated desperately in her mind, and the tyro opened her mouth to hiss at her own thoughts, only to discover she could not.
clawing desperately for purchase, she gasped for air, opening her jaws again and again as tears of panic stung her eyes. no words, no sound came from her throat; she put her jaws 'round the toes of one paw. the revelation that her tongue was missing provoked horrified grunts from the she-wolf; but she could not scream, nor could she call for help. noiseless sobbing shook the woman as she fought for control; she dug her claws into the earthen floor of the den and panted quickly, eyes shut tightly against the terror of her awakening thus far. 
with painful sluggishness, she returned to herself. she had her sight, her hearing. the use of her limbs, she supposed, gathering herself gingerly to her feet and stumbling out into the growing dawnlight. all that had been lost to her was her voice, and it was not something that had ever come easily to her. armed with this calming knowledge, the oddly-marked she-wolf took in the scents of the earth. packland. blackfeather. the name whispered itself into her mind, and she nodded. blackfeather. she had come here with terich
her thoughts leaped away from that as deer would from a fire tearing through their forest
and ... who else? there had been another. surely? the woman paused, concentrating on the whisper of familiarity at the edge of her consciousness, but there came a reverberating pain inside her skull, one that grew with each second, and the agony of it dropped her to her haunches with a throated cry. head spinning, she parted her jaws to gulp in air once more until the sensation passed. do not do that again. do not try to remember, she told herself — or was it another voice who whispered? the tyro did not know.
some time passed and she stood, pressing toward the heart of the territory. she knew not their names, nor their faces; she knew only that the stamp of their scent was upon her. sheogorath. another name. the she-wolf accepted it without question. terich. blackfeather. sheogorath — here were the things she knew. 
it was alongside a stream she paused, and gazed into the ice-skimmed surface of it at herself. the woman did not recoil from her twisted reflection, letting her eyes trace with disgust and mild pity the scars that lacerated her muzzle and lifted the right side of her lips, the bedraggled appearance of her fur, the jut of her bones from her ragged pelt. anger entered her heart; why had she been so neglected? resolutely she strode into the water, slaking her thirst even as she circled and washed the filth from her pelt. 
decamping to the streambank, the woman began to groom herself furiously, shaking against the cold. i do not know who i am, but it does not matter. sheogorath knows. she paused to nod at herself, allowing the tiniest grim smile to curve her lips before returning to her preening, shuddering on the hard-packed dirt.