Wapun Meadow but you see, it's not me, it's not my family

Zombie knew, now, that she was doomed to be abandoned over and over again.

Both her belly and hope had been filled by the woman known as Alo, and the yearling allowed herself to believe that she could finally call someplace home. That she would not run—not this time—and her body, mind and spirit could finally heal. She patrolled the territory diligently, holding on to the promise that Alo would teach her to hunt—that Alo would teach her to live as a wolf was meant to.

It soon became clear that the leader of Ookaan truly had no interest in those that chose to follow her. She was difficult to find, if at all, and her scent began to fade. Before much longer, it disappeared from the meadow altogether. Zombie had been thrown into a feral rage, stalking through Wapun Meadow—but never leaving it—until she was too exhausted to do anything but sleep. When she woke, the cycle repeated herself.

After furiously digging at the entrance of an abandoned (though she didn't realize it was so) rabbit warren to no result, Zombie exhaled—hard—and sat. Her sides heaved slightly with the effort, and her electric eyes surveyed the abandoned meadow with contempt. With winter coming, she knew she should move on... but to what? Another pack that would abandon her when she needed help the most?

It was better to starve, to lay down and die... and so she lay on her side, silently willing the life to leave her body.

Wapun Meadow had been said to harbour a pack, a rumour which appeared in part to be true; however, the trail treaded down by the wolves that had lived here carried only stale scents, and none among them particularly dominant. After inspecting for a while, Jinx was made to assume the wolves here had moved on; it brought a grim satisfaction, for while it was always a sad thing when a pack's members were scattered to the winds (she believed often they died, unable to settle elsewhere, although that was probably not the reality; and in believing so, the disbanding of an established pack always pulled at her heartstrings, even if she could not stop it), it was also telling. Sos had punished her in the forest, leaving spiritual scars that still ached, but he had also done her a favour: he had dashed out her competition, leaving this entire side of the valley utterly untouched.

She took the opportunity to scout and see what the disbanded wolves had left behind; she suspected little, as they were now labeled vagrants and likely took what they could with them to up their chances of survival, but perhaps one or two had left behind some unturned caches. Her nose therefore was close to the ground, and her vision limited; she came upon Zombie quite by accident, although it was a lot more interesting to find one of the abandoned inhabitants than digging up the pack's abandoned spoils.

Her head lifted so that she was staring down at the rusted female's spine, and a surge of emotion — pity, or disgust, maybe a mix of both — rushed through her stomach at how hopeless she seemed. Jinx would maybe have moved on, left the poor thing to its death, but there was something else that stopped her from doing so: a flicker of anger, and disbelief. She would never know where it came from; Sos, maybe, telling her something important, or childish determination. She didn't think about it, and probably never would.

“Get up,” she said, a little curtly, with an expression that had hardened even though it was compassion that brought the words forth. “You are a wolf. We do not lie down and let death catch us; where is your pride? Where is your fight?”

Even as the other approached, Zombie did not stir—her silent prayer continued, begging the earth to take her and life to flee. Whatever secrets death held, and no matter how the hunger had grown to be such a comforting and constant companion... it had to be better than the life she had experienced thus far. It was the crushing loneliness of her young existence that threatened to destroy her; for wolves were not meant to live alone, and that was all Zombie had been. Alone. Abandoned. Even in her sorry state, the worn femur she carried like a trophy lay beneath a protective paw—after all, it was her only friend. If Zombie were to ever lose it... well, she never consciously thought about that possibility, for the yearling couldn't fathom a life without it. As far as she was concerned, it was as much a part of her as her own tail.

"Get up," a voice said. Zombie did not flinch, did not move. Perhaps the stranger would believe her dead and move on, though the yearling knew her breaths betrayed the life still within her. The voice continued, and the grey-and-rust female gave a sharp and heavy exhale. She considered the words for a moment, and said simply, "Gone." Her tone did not express it, the passion in the other's voice did stir something within Zombie's chest.

Impatience wormed through her as she awaited a response, having fully expected it to come instantly. The body instead shuddered as with forced breath, and Jinx's brows furrowed tightly together, her displeasure mounting with every second that ticked by. The word uttered was said quietly, with defeat and dispassion enough that Jinx's own anger, often so difficult to tease out, suddenly flared into life. Would that she could, she might've torn into this female with wild abandon, put her in her place and reminded her that wolves were not meagre dogs to lie in wait for death's sickle; instead, she let the fury bubble into her throat as a frustrated growl.

Without any other announcement, the young Shearwater Bay heiress had lunged for the scruff of the fallen, shameful Zombie, seizing upon a determination hidden deep within her. If she could not move the other to action with words, then she would simply have to move her physically, and force upon her the pride of a wolf. Perhaps the notion of an attack would be enough to snap Zombie back into that mindset, and maybe she would move on her own, in which case Jinx would be quick to step back; failing that, she would have no shame in dragging the other to their feet, if it was so necessary.

As ivory teeth met flesh, Zombie loosed a sound that was half snarl and half shriek—a mixture of pain and indignation, that another would touch her so and refuse to let death take its time. Seconds later, she resigned herself to the fact that her crossing would not be peaceful, but rather pieceful. She would be torn asunder, with bits of her flesh thrown beyond the threshold before her soul had a chance to keep up. At least, these were the thoughts that consumed the skeletal girl as the impassioned female forcibly raised her to stand.

The pressure at her neck released, and Zombie sank to her haunches—electric eyes glaring at her apparent "savior". More angry words fell across her like lashes, but the starved yearling paid them no mind. When they finally stopped and the other watched her expectantly for a response, Zombie bared her teeth, turned, and ran.