Meadowlark Prairie whatever's lost cannot be found

Her head hurts. It's a pounding, and ache that stretched down her neck, an early sign of dehydration and brightness combined. She squints, not missing the pale shape that appears, but she doesn't pay too much attention until it's suddenly close, and words fall from it. Cass twists to face it - him - and words that are driven by her current status fall from her muzzle. "Why do you care?" 

She sizes him up fearlessly, noting the wounds and scars with a twinge, but betraying nothing. Wounds, in her mind, are the mark of a loser, and this boy had a great deal of them. Paws are planted firmly, stance unyielding, even in the face of the thirst which burns at her throat and pounds in her skull, and the exhaustion visible in the droop of her spine.