Angels on the moon

Bazi turned to look at the wondrous panorama of light and colour. Knowing what Nightingale might be facing made it look flat, and dull. The last lark song? Bazi tried to imagine herself so resigned to her fate, but couldn't - even considering the possibility made her skin crawl with the desperation to fight, or flee. It was a distant shadow of the mind-numbing terror she had felt when the sickness had overwhelmed her previous pack, plunging one wolf after the other into a feverish delirium that she or anyone else was powerless to stop.

Bazi flattened her ears, grimacing until the memory gathered its vibrant films and scuttled into a dark corner, leaving her retinas to cool in darkness. "You should fight," the Gamma half-admonished, "You sound like you think it's out of your hands."