Barrow Fields i need not one thing more

mona's joyous contemplation of the sea was roused by a rasping voice, and in horror the girl turned her wide murkwater eyes upon the dark visage of a sharp-featured, dark-headed wolfess, the burn of the witch's eyes scalding mona into a gasp that gathered her to frightened paws and backed her along the edge of the meadow.
"y-yes! i mean, no. no, i haven't," mona bleated, attempting to both draw in the details of the other wolf and keep her posture deferential, so confident was the other's demeanour. but the other had offered no threat; now the mayfair stood ashamed in front of the newcomer. the small silvered lining to the aggrieved cloud that had settled over her features was noticing the swell of the small-boned woman's sides. mona flushed with delight. "i can't wait till i'm a mother," she blurted dreamily, and then true horror at what was surely a blunder overcame her countenance.