Sun Mote Copse and when you asked for light, i set myself on fire

caiaphas had turned tail, but for all of her bustling to appear as if she was retreating, it was a trap. long ago, caiaphas had learned from better and stronger wolves to never give chase around a corner: in those corners, you found nothing but fangs; fangs which waited in deceitful ambush - fangs that always took by surprise.

and so as she groaned and beat and clawed to find some tree to step slyly around so that she might play charon the fool, it was she that was played -- for the slavering hound of moonspear did not give chase.

caiaphas stood behind the tall bough of an immeasurably wide oak; it was just then she realized the exhaustion in her, and she collected her breath in galloping heaves. her sides could not still, her tongue lolled in sharp gasps; she had overestimated both him, and her strength -- and with a hateful sort of regret, realized she was lucky to escape alive.

she hung back, obscured in the deadfall -- she did not trust that the fight was over, that charon had simply decided there were better ventures to be had than ripping the flesh of a granny from limb to limb. caiaphas did not trust the crunch of leaves underfoot that announced charon had long since left --  but eventually, well after her breath had returned to her and her head roared in pain, caiaphas too moved, stalking in a stiff slouch for home with crimson stripes slaking down her white limbs.