Swiftcurrent Creek Why should I say "I'll keep you with me"?

Just a quick RO for acknowledgment.

The news had gone around, reaching Wylla some days after the incident. She hadn't even known Ingram was here. What was he doing here? What had he been doing when a wild animal fell upon him and tore his hide to shreds and snuffed out his life? And where had she been, that she had never noticed his presence in the Creek territory?

Well, she could answer that. Wylla was nesting. She'd dug a respectable but small burrow in the base of a half-rotten stump and spent much of her time lining it with dry moss and grass from the surrounding area. She hadn't had as much time or desire to be out and about; her instincts urged her to this singular task, to the point of rearranging a particular leaf some seventy-two times.

Of course she hadn't known Ingram was in the creek pack—he hadn't sought her out and she'd been too busy—and now he was gone. She would never see him again, truly this time. His body had, they said, been torn in so many pieces it was hard to even tell he was a wolf. There had been so much blood.

She was numb as she settled in her small, dark den, cradling that same leaf between her ankles, staring at the wall. If she hadn't left Grimnismal—if she hadn't let that cock-sucking hybrid win—then Ingram wouldn't have been here. He wouldn't have died.

Wylla couldn't fight it, then. She buried her head into her arms and shook as wild sobs suffocated her.