Wild Berry Meadow there to abide with my creator, god,

ears folded but relmyna did not quail, tensing only momentarily at the warm touch of the other. and as the pressure of the woman's paw settled comfortably atop her own, the she-wolf was displeased to feel an answering break in her heart. the realization that she had not truly been touched by more than her children for some time swept over her, waters flowing through a broken dam upstream. no, she could not — the delta searched the stranger's face for some hint of disgust as sorrow sloughed up from the bedrock of her loneliness, and spilled bitter from her eyes.
shamed, relieved, terrified, relmyna nevertheless kept her paw as it was, trusting in some measure of mercy that the kind woman would not suddenly turn upon her, rip at features vulnerable in their painful contortion. it was a silent weeping, one measured by breaths that shook at their edges; she blinked and could no longer look upon the face of her savior, and at last turned away to lie her muzzle upon the dirt, unable to hold the weight of her own grief, let alone the soft touch of another being.