Grouse Thicket thou bleeding piece of earth

Life trudged on, the gradual slip from summer to autumn becoming obvious as the days shortened and the weather cooled, cool stretches becoming more and more common. Their numbers were small, and yet she had no inclinations to leave. She went on with pack life, steadfast in her duty, though her past illness had brought weariness to her for a week. She felt recovered, better, now, and with nothing better to do she headed for the Thicket.

A part of her was waiting. A new, awakened part, how curious it was in it's intentions and thoughts. Part of her was waiting for Nico. He had not been seen since her unfortunate incident, and she had come to the conclusion that he was busy with his pack, and perhaps, did not wish to see her again till she would not have any chance of vomiting on him. The thought may have stung a little, but she saw the reason in it, and anyway, it was unlikely he felt thus, in her opinion. 

His scent. Fresh, and it hung heavy in the air, entwined with another. Blood. She halted, ears twisting atop her skull, mouth open partway as she inhaled the air, search for a trade of the scent. It was no preyblood, that she scented here. Wolfblood. She exhaled sharply, paws leading her at a stalking lope after his scent, he was easy to track. Agitation led a swift speed to her paws, it was quickly, fortunately, that she found him. 

He slipped below the surface of the water, tinged red in hue, and she growled, a low and angry sound, and one of fear. Fortune had led her here, she was a strong swimmer from all her weeks on the isle, and she did not fear the liquid. Her legs propelled her ever onward, toward the pool in silence driven by fear, protectiveness, and a rage at why her friend was like this. This volatile mixture of emotion set her nerves on fire, adrenaline surged as she dove after him, legs churning as she swum toward him, jaws searching for a grip on his scruff, and obtaining a rather awkward one. As soon as a grip was established, she clenched her jaws and reversed her momentum, muscles screaming as she tried to swim toward the surface,  the pale light that represented respite for her lungs. Fear and rage, fear that she had been too late, that something had gone horribly wrong, and rage, an all-consuming one directed at the shadow-figure which had somehow caused this.