Emberwood a partial list of things currently inside you: blood, skull, ghost
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#1
All Welcome 
For reference, the biggest wound she has is in the side of her head that’s bleeding and minor scrapes and bruises that don’t need attention.

She lays on the forest floor in a heap, unconscious and blood caked on the side of her face with a glistening of fresh red coating the mess. How she’s gotten here and how long she’s been here are indeterminate, fleeting from a mind unable to form new memories and briefly erased everything that happened since she flew Drageda’s borders.

As she comes to early in the morning, songbirds filling the air and her head throbs each time a chirp-too-loud makes its way through into her mind. One ear twitches, her legs tremble, she groans. Slowly, she begins to move but regrets it as soon as she does and stops to give it a few more seconds and try to job her mind up to speed.

She carefully rolls upright. If she opens her eyes, the world will be spinning and any new disturbance might cause her to lose whatever contents are in her stomach. Her stomach quickly reminds her nothing is there but food is the last thing she wants to think about.

After a moment, she’s fully aware of the rampant headache pounding in her head now and the flips her stomach is doing. A little while longer, she decides, and unaware of the implications, she slumps back down on the ground.
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#2
The black wolf glanced up as he jogged along the creek. Two ravens circled over the timber that was butted up against the slope of a mount. He could see them through a break in his own territory's canopy. Their attentive and interested croaks lured him with the chance of a fresh carcass; a source of meat far greater than the lean hare he carried between his teeth. He thought to bury his prey as he made his way to the harbingers of death, but its meagre weight was no burden to the strength of his jaws, and the fresh piss of a coyote bade him to keep it with him.

He shouldered through tangles of young aspens and weaved around the sturdy trunks of the larger conifers, choosing the clearest paths available to him. Only to find at the end of the trail that the ravens were not circling a deer or moose, but another wolf. One that was still alive; if only just. His eyes fell with scrutiny upon the damage that had been brought against the side of her face. He glanced across the other wounds she bared as well, but it was obvious they were not what felled her.

Jagwyr let the hare drop at his feet, where it piled up with its bloodied and crushed head bent under its shoulders and its ass lifted in the air. His eyes flicked down at it, and he as he drew a comparison between the slumped female and his dead game he let out a snort.

"Get up." He commanded gruffly, as an ear twisted to the rising yip of a coyote in the distance. The same one, he figured, whose scent he crossed just prior.
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#3
The girl lays there for a while, somewhere between unconsciousness and the real world. Each sway brings back some form of pain, whether emotional or physical. Lotte seems to dance somewhere and she can’t tell where. She doesn’t question it anymore. 

Get up.

She doesn’t move, not even certain she heard anything at all. 

Get up, my girl.

Eyes flicker open. The first attempt to move is met with a groan, unaware there’s an entirely other presence looming close by. Blood touches her nose as if it’s been there for a moment, one ear twitching, and instantly she jerks and turns toward the stranger. Unable to decipher where the blood is coming from, whether it’s hers or his or their own on each other, she shuffles her feet and stumbles back. Her head throbs harder, causing every vessel and vein to pulse faster and send pain throughout the rest of her. 

It takes several more difficult seconds to finally get up on all fours, legs shaking to hold up her frame. He hasn’t retaliated or offered any other aggression than a stern voice but she remains tense, ears back and head low, as the brute finally comes into focus.
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
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#4
"Get up," he repeated with a stronger, harsher edge. "That dog's on your blood and he'll be here chewing your asshole and eating your face if you don't find your feet." On cue, the ki-yi of a second coyote lifted to join the first.

He watched as she struggled to take command of her faculties and her limbs. If he cared for her plight and had any sympathy for her at all, it was not readable from the stony expression he wore. Once she was standing, he grunted. "There you go."

He waited, green eyes roaming across her young body.
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#5
It takes a moment before she’s able to respond, trying to register what’s going on. She’d missed the start of his words, having listened to the soft words another another, and by the time she’s on all four feet, he’s saying something else. 

She blinks, glances away, and one ear turns off to the side for the sounds in the distance. One glance to the kill at the brute’s feet explains the scent of blood and her stomach turns, though whether for hunger or nausea, it’s difficult to tell. Saliva pools in her mouth and she licks her lips, unable to tell the difference in the moment but she steps back anyway. 

After a beat, she realizes the tightness to the right side of her face, dried blood caked thickly onto her fur. Open her mouth pulls the fur beneath and she quickly snaps them shut in response. 

”What’s hap—“ she trails off. The other doesn’t seem to show any signs he’s been fighting, aside from the kill. ”Who are you?” she asks, wincing as her head throbs. She has many more questions but she struggles to focus on those she’s already (attempted) to ask.
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
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#6
"Don't know," he replied with a shrug of his muscled shoulders. "Saw ravens overhead. Thought you could be an easy meal." The black wolf paused and licked his lips, tasting a bit of the hare's blood as he wondered if she possessed any memories behind that disorienting fog of pain. He was no one she knew but he had no qualms with answering that question either. "Name's Jagwyr."

The coyotes howled again. They were making ground. "Come," he instructed, dropping his skull to gather the hare between his teeth. Jagwyr turned toward the tail of the creek, where it thinned and bled into a wetland; an ear cocked back to listen for her. He did not hurry, but he did not adjust his pace to accommodate either. It was simply relaxed, routine.
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#7
”Oh,” she says softly as he offers his noncommittal explanation. She looks around her for signs it’s true but it hurts too much to turn her head too fast and as if on cue, the coyotes announce they’re still around. She shuffled her feet a bit and move along after the brute as he turns and offers to lead her somewhere. She doesn’t think about where she’s going in the moment, wanting more answers than she’s been given. ”I’m... Mallaidh,” she introduces after a long pause, licking her lips and keeping her head down as she follows behind the stranger.
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#8
He heard her name but made no acknowledgement. The business at hand commanded his attention and he spared none for introductions and small talk. He lead her to the creek without pause, north of the claim he now defended, and searched briefly along its snaking edge for a site suitable: one where the bank was not too steep or high and the water was no deeper than his chest — and not too fast. Somewhere a wolf could step in and stand with ease.

"Here," he beckoned. "Clean your face."
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#9
She follows after him for whatever reason, uncertain where they were going until the gentle sound of water reaches her. Lifting her head to look up beyond the dark male, then to him, she continues along in silence. A little anxiety seems into her chest but it’s easy to leave at bay, as if his confidence rolls off him somehow and she absorbs what’s in the air. One ear twitches as he speaks and she steps up, following in his footsteps into the riverbank. The cold water quickly takes to her legs and she shivers once, steadying her nerves. A single glance back to him to search for motive, but a quiet resolve puts her back  and lowers her head, swiping a her face to wipe away the dried blood.
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
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#10
He watched as the wetted blood came undone from her face and was lost to the creek. The coyotes howled again. He cocked an ear back, brow furrowing in thought as he registered that the distance between them and the dogs had increased. Perhaps they had found more suitable game, or perhaps his hale presence had deterred them from the injured wolf's trail. Either way, it seemed she would be spared their harassing fangs.

Jagwyr dropped the hare. "So," he drawled, sitting down. "Piss someone off?"
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#11
The tightness in her fur subsides as it dissolves the water, trailing off with the ripples she causes. She pauses only when he speaks to her and she turns over her shoulder to look at him, pink-laden water dripping from the side of her head. Mallaidh blinks a few times, and then shakes her head—only to wince and cut it short—but she doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t remember how she’d the torn flesh on the side of her head, but fuck did it hurt. “I don’t know,” she says, stepping back from the tainted water and closer to the shore. “I mean, I did but… they didn’t do this,” she offers though the confused look on her face betrays any confidence in her words. She’d fled from Drageda who knows how long and she doesn’t recognize a single thing in her surroundings, so surely she’s far enough away that Blixen and her mother wouldn’t have tracked her down—and besides… Blixen wouldn’t do this… right?
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
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#12
Jagwyr arched a brow. That look on her face? He did not miss it. He easily read the uncertainty and the confusion there. "Hmmm.." He licked his lips, his eyes roaming the wound on her head. It was easier now that the clots of blood had been rinsed. "Ran into a tree maybe." It was more a joke than a legitimate assessment, but his deadpan tone and impassive expression did not make his jest readily apparent. "Running away, hrmph? Who are these wolves? What did you do?"
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#13
Ran into a tree maybe.
 
Mallaidh nods, dumbly. The last thing she remembers is running so it doesn’t seem like a stretch to believe. It must be but no matter how hard she tries, she can’t pull it from memory. It doesn’t matter now (or so she hopes) and she steps all the way out of the water as he asks more questions, this time ones she wish she could forget.
 
“I broke up with my girlfriend,” she explains, licking her lips. “I don’t think her mom liked that very much,” she adds, though after hearing it out loud, it sounds stupid. She can barely remember why she’d run in the first place, aside from being terrified, but she’ll come to discover her anxiety leads her into strange places.
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
that the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes
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#14
Girlfriend.

The dark wolf twitched an ear at that but otherwise had no reaction. He didn't care. He only asked what she was running from because it was in his interest to know if there could be trouble for his pack — for him — following on her heels. But some lover's quarrel and a disapproving mother was of no concern to him.

"There's other girls out there." He shrugged, refraining from commenting on any of his other thoughts. He was keen to get back home. "My pack claims the creek further south." Jagwyr stooped to collect his hare. He took one last look at her, grunted (was that a farewell?) and then turned away, heading south. Whether his statement was an invitation to her or a warning was up to her interpretation.
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#15
The other wolf’s blank response only makes things worse. Her jaw tightens, holding her breath. She’s just some stupid kid in his eyes, with a problem that isn’t that serious. She probably didn’t even have to run, but she did and now she can’t remember… something. When he does speak, offering advice? Maybe? She looks up to try and read his face and found nothing. He stoops to pick up his rabbit and turned toward his aforementioned pack claim. Mallaidh remains in place, watching him retreat from where she stands. Maybe it was an invitation, or warning, she can’t tell, and indecision doesn’t push her to follow after him.
 
Her ear twitches when the coyotes cry in the distance and she shakes out her fur again, turning away and trotting north.
i'd give anything to hear you say it one more time
that the universe was made just to be seen by my eyes