Porcupine Ridge Dreaming of Spring

Illea stopped walking entirely, her expression turning grave. Diane paused a few steps ahead, turning back to cock her head questioningly at the pale she-wolf, gold eyes searching her worried face. The trail they were on certainly smelled edible—what was wrong? Without having to ask this aloud, her packmate answered in a distant voice, as if she were recalling something (or as if she had read Diane's mental question; though this was preposterous), and the naive Cove wolf found her confusion deepening.

"Rabies?" she echoed, only personally familiar with cold-like sicknesses and the bloating that was a result of spending too much time in the water. Illea had said give as if rabies were some type of present, but her tone had suggested something completely different. What came to Diane's mind at the foreboding sentence was something like a vicious flea. "Are rabies fast? Can it catch us without the raccoon?"