Blackfeather Woods Bloody Mary, full of vodka, blessed are you amongst cocktails.

Her natural aversion to her children either forced her to the corner of the den or, when all else failed, out of it. She was never strong enough or conscious to pull herself out of the Glen, remaining there. It was her tomb, some luicid part of her said, her punishment for whatever sins the Gods had blamed them for.

Her paws, made unsteady by the opioids flowing through her body, got her only so far. She collapsed on the shore of the small pond, barely shivering at the chill of the water. FFfffuck, Her words slurred, a delayed reaction to the sudden sensation at her side. She rolled over, her paws tripping and sliding under her. No, She said to her body, stilling.