Blackfeather Woods bruised by god

Tagging @Kove but all welcome. You're welcome to attack her (no death!) but be aware she's covered in wounds already. @Ithrik is the one that brought and left her here. She's in the northern part of the woods.

She never knows where he’s taking her. She’s learned to stop asking. He only talks to her when he needs something from her, or to twist her mind even more. At this point, she scarcely believes the memories of her former life. Day in and day out is nothing but darkness, torture, and abuse with the occasional meal and sometimes he doesn’t hurt her. Moving her keeps her on her toes, and prevents others from finding her. Her heat would likely attract attention and leaving the mountain behind once her season would avoid any further run in. The speed at which they move hurts and he negatively reinforces her speed, fighting against wounds, fur caked in blood, dirt, and bodily fluids—he never cared to keep her clean—and blood cake hard against now-irritated flesh on either side of her muzzle from her scarred sockets.

But when they begin to approach claimed land, the scent of markers becoming strong, she starts to panic. She slows, which warrants retaliation, and she shifts close to avoid any unnecessary pain. Which only lasts a few minutes because the smell is stronger, to the point she is certain they’re right on the border, and he does not show any signs of stopping.

Tension builds in her system and her heart begins to speak faster. She opens her mouth to say something, to object, but he sees it and snaps at her face and she doesn’t know who to fear more. Is he on a suicide mission? Is this planned? She stumbles over her feet, struggling to keep going against better instincts, but her inability to see anything prevents her from really objecting. She does not trust him but she’s forced to stay close, given her only chance at survival.

After a moment, she realizes there are only one set of footsteps to her ears. Her head turns and she reaches out for the brute—when traveling, he’s always within reach—and she opens her mouth but nothing comes out. Ocra whines, using her nose to smell the wind for which direction to go. “Where are you?” she whispers quietly as her heart sinks. He does not give her an answer, does not let her know he’s there, and she’s turned around somewhere unfamiliar and he’s nowhere to be found. What kind of sick joke to leave her in the middle of claimed lands without any idea of what is going on. They’re going to kill her. Ears fall against her head, limbs shake, and she slowly lowers to the ground—a messy, hollowed out shell of a woman.