Porcupine Ridge The hills of Hollywood on fire

She gazed blankly at the waste she had lain, her tongue lolling as she recovered from the unexpected exertion. She couldn't feel the pain, neither her leg or neck, but was aware of an all-consuming numbness that rang through her like the funeral tolls of a church bell. It was her first kill that had been made outside of the necessity to eat. She wasn't sure how to feel about it as the adrenaline drained from her veins and she was left absent of the dire need to defend her companion. This would never be something she enjoyed, though Diane was positive now that she was capable of it. Capable of things she'd never even considered before, in her cushy life on the beach.

The she-wolf was vaguely aware that Farstep had come nearer. She looked at him finally, not knowing what to expect but surprised when she found concern and reverence set plaintively on his face. He remembered the same thing she did, about the last time he had touched her, and he was hesitating in his evident desire to tend to her. Diane could feel the stiffness in her body, but noted that it did not come from her aversion to unbidden male contact. Wanting to escape the mood, flee the mentality of violence that had overtaken her, she took a timid step closer to him, bowing her head so that her ears and neck were prone to his advance.

And as he would come closer, she would seek to preen and soothe the fur at his chest.