Meadowlark Prairie whatever's lost cannot be found

She had always wondered at a poisoned thought. She, for her mother, was the last vestiges of a life failed. She knew the basics of her mother's story, lost a pack, a child, a mate, and then another child. She perhaps was a reminder of that; with her gone, could not her mother leave her fractured past behind for good? It was a thought combined with guilt, and anger, that she was wrong, that her mother loved her, needed her, and the pack needed her. But they didn't, did they? "Fine." She moved to her feet, neck rolling and hateful gaze not leaving the boy's face. There are half a dozen things she could say, but Cassiopeia is silent; trudging at the side of the boy and fantasizing just how she could attack, should she have been, perhaps, a good foot taller and a great deal heavier. Even now, though slowly coursing fear and bitter anger, she is stubborn; this turn of events must only be temporary.