Whitefish River I feel like prey, I feel like praying

indra had been busy observing the strange wolf, unaware her studying may have been seen by some as far too intense for a whelp of her stature. it was not until her mother called her that her gaze was torn away; abruptly the little whelp jerked her head in her mother's direction, surprised by the sudden change in topic. she was not old enough yet to recognize speech, though she knew the sound of her name meant something to her. she rose, stumpily strutting over to her mother to plop silently at her feet. with valette and the rest of the world forgotten, the flame-furred babe fell swiftly to sleep.