Golden Glade the escape

What rose from beneath the snow appeared to be a wolf, but Phox felt like something was missing from her. He studied her with a furrowed brow, expecting to find only three legs, perhaps a half-eaten tail or a single ear, but physically, she was intact. Two eyes stared back at him, but he could not shake the feeling that something was missing. It was an unsettling, sad feeling. For a moment he wondered if she was unable to hear, like Towhee, but she had stirred when he had come near, and her ears swiveled on her head as though she were paying attention to the sounds around her.

Her movements were slow and steady. Stealthy in a way he had seen only once or twice before, and they were the movements of a hunter... someone trying to stay hidden, quiet. But when there was a sound, she startled, and he expected her to dart away, never to be seen again. Instead, she began to stutter jumbled words, and his concern grew. She repeated “he” several times over, and Phox glanced over his shoulder, expecting to see somebody behind him. Nobody appeared, and he turned his attention back to her, bleeding heart ready to fall right out of his chest.

Is he close? he asked gently, hoping she had at least some estimate. He thought of the Blackfeather wolves, the ones who had once tortured his older sister and done unspeakable things to her. He thought of Titmouse, and although dead, Phox did not know how long ago his brother had perished. Could this be another one of his victims, scarred without the support of friends and family around her?