Northstar Vale The little deaths are a little less, even if just for a moment

She lived.

With a gasp, Saena awoke in a deep rut where a tree's roots snaked into the ground. A layer of snow lay over everything, including her, as she lifted her head. Her lips twisted into a snarl as the closed wounds of the day before stretched and split open to ooze fresh blood while she struggled to her feet, but the flow was staunched significantly by scabbing. She departed slowly, leaving a patch of blood where she'd slept for the inspection of any curious wolves.

It was another day and a half before she reached the vale. By then the smaller wounds had stitched closed and clotted, but the pain was infinitely more for it. She couldn't turn her head without feeling the sharp yank of scabs. The wound on her side had split open half a dozen times as she climbed and descended, and her core temperature was higher than it should be from fever and inflammation, but Saena was out of the woods in terms of bleeding to death. Now she would only need to heal to a point where her blood would not be poisoned by rot, and she would be safe.

She limped down into the vale and howled lowly to announce her location to the other pack wolves, but then she heavily sat to catch her breath and fend off the agony momentarily. Her face was drawn and her eyes were sunken from pain and shock and blood loss, but she was alive, in familiar territory, and she knew she would not be leaving the sides of her pack mates again, not for a very long time. Her time scouting, visiting the maple forest, and taking time to herself was finished. She could not risk her life again, lest an ambitious bitch try to usurp her station and take her partner.

She growled, knowing even in her injured state she would fight tooth and nail against any contenders, and hoisted herself to her feet once more with a strangled cry of pain.