that's what you're doin'

If Magpie had been able to read minds like the wolves in certain stories the Corvidae told, she would have left the wounded stranger to her fate. To expect a juvenile to be able to do much else than call for older, wiser wolves to aid in complex situations was, well... foolish. She might have searched for a sheltered niche in the mountainside to protect them both from the rain if she were a different wolf, but Magpie was not irrationally frightened of storms like most of the rest of her kin. Instead, she found solace in the intensity of the weather, for it made her own internal storm of emotion seem tame. In storms, she was able to let go.

With the way the other female was acting, it didn't occur to Magpie that it was only a single limb that was bothering her — there was definitely a flavor of drama in the other's behavior that indicated it was something at least semi-life-threatening. It also didn't occur to Magpie that the dramatics might be due to the storm, for the stranger seemed to be content to stay out in it just as she was. Another flash of lightning brightened the lakeshore, and the juvenile reveled in the rumble of thunder that followed. When it ended, she looked back towards her companion to see the question relayed in her body language.

Although darkness was falling swiftly, likely making her more and more difficult to distinguish, Magpie stood and twirled in a slow circle in response. She didn't often speak, but her coat was so remarkably similar to the bird she was named for, that most wolves could guess her calling without being explicitly told. When she returned to a seated position, she looked pointedly at the stranger with a tilted head. You?