Moonspear Undone

Wildfire awoke, cold, stiff and alone, on the outskirts of her pack's territory. For a few seconds, her mind blanked and she couldn't figure out what she was doing here. Then everything came back in an unpleasant rush, punctuated by an all-over ache. Lips pinched together, the she-wolf slowly sat up, then pushed herself to her feet, blinking as if it would clear the nightmares out of her head. She looked down at herself and noted dimly that she looked more or less as if nothing had happened. The bite marks on her neck pulled uncomfortably, so she knew they must have started to scab over.

Now she could probably tell everyone she had simply slipped, fallen and scraped herself up. She was such a klutz, nobody would bat an eyelash... as long as she could pretend, of course, that nothing else was wrong. That was what kept her standing warily at the borders, seemingly unable to move. The attack had taken something out of her, for sure, and Wildfire had a feeling the true psychological toll would only manifest in time.

Fake it 'til you make it, she found herself chanting, pulling the phrase from somewhere deep down in her memory, forcing her little red paws across the invisibly boundary. There was part of her that wanted to see Floki, revel in his warmth and comfort (even if he wouldn't realize how much she needed the latter) but Wildfire simply couldn't bring herself to call for him. Instead, she marched somewhat aimlessly through the woods, her body hurting and her focus shot.