Blackfeather Woods Where the hell did all this blood come from

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relmyna.
it was sheogorath who had named her, and he was also called cicero. or perhaps it was the other way around; no matter. relmyna whispered in her head the name over and over again, until it had become hers. she had taken to roaming the woodlands of blackfeather, acquainting herself with markers and scents she hadn't remembered. and slowly the tyro began to build in her mind the names of those roundabout her, though the tension of the newest litter's arrival escaped her.
she refused to leave the snitcher's side — the pale woman devoted herself to cicero as she had done for a year now. she knew no other way, and took pleasure in what she was able to do for him. today, however, he had gone off,  leaving her in the cave of teeth, and relmyna did not follow — the tyro sat at the cavemouth and gazed unseeingly out at the snowdrifts.
collect as she might the knowledge of her pack, relmyna knew nothing of herself
terich
and any attempt to glean from her memories resulted in excruciating agony that flared through the delicate bones of her ruined skull, for minutes at a time, driving strength from her body and wringing throaty cries from her destroyed muzzle. and so she had avoided it for some days now, though curiosity snapped its slavering jaws at her flank.
turquoise eyes refocused as the oddly shaped form of a child came into view. she watched impassively as the stunted babe drew near; perhaps in another life she might have recoiled, but relmyna did no such thing. she herself was deformed; why would she judge such in another? her eyes knew his color, the shade of his own gaze, and perception tickled at her mind, but she did not move.