Redhawk Caldera However, this seems to be an outlier.

She was certain she loved Ponyboy. She knew what love was, didn't she? Ana had loved her parents on the island, she'd loved her littermates and even the sister-but-not she'd found in Dinah. She'd loved them far more than they had ever loved her. Ana still woke from nightmares at times, on the rare occasion that she found sleep, quiet cruel dreams in which she blinked and found herself alone again on the island; left behind, again.

Always left behind.

And Ponyboy — he had a family. A mother, and siblings who loved him. Anathema wondered sometimes where his father was, but only rarely.

When she did sleep, it was alone. She didn't bother to choose a den but laid wherever she found a comfortable spot, one night tucked among the roots of a tree and another night stretched out beside the lake. What never changed was the cold. The bite of wind and snow in her fur, and so much silence. It didn't bother her. It didn't.

But it was a curious thing, Ana thought as she settled near to the river's edge. It was odd. Each night as she laid alone under the stars and the snow, her eyes heated and stung and welled with tears, and she felt nothing. Nothing at all. It was a curious thing. But she did not ask herself why.