Otter Creek wolves of the calla

a curse was upon her, and relmyna would never forgive herself if by some fluke, this youngster contracted it. however, she kept her pace slow, more for herself than anything, a veritable maddening shamble through the snow. and while shame burned beneath her ragged pale fur, the tyro knew she must regain some semblance of strength, if only for the sake of her own ironic vanity.
presently she paused to shake out her sparse ruff; had she a tongue, relmyna would have passed it nervously along her dry lips. as it were, she glanced shyly in the direction of her youthful guardian in inquiry: what is your name?