Greatwater Lake That's not my name

Sao alternates between sleeping, trying to sleep, or for short periods crying about her discomfort. How long she'd been carried, despite the stops, began to lose her. How long ago had she been with the coyote? How long since she'd been snatched? However, Sao's mind couldn't travel that far back to remember and they slowly became shadows of memories, distant in the background.

When they slow to a stop, she eagerly welcomes the ground. Her center of gravity shifts and shaky limbs carry her a few inches. Her stomach roils, upset and tired and hungry, and his voice goes unnoticed. He's a different color than she's used to, doesn't have the same scent she's used to, but beyond a gentle grasp of a thought, she's no sure where it comes from. She stumbles forward into his fur and searches—perhaps not even for the first time—for milk.