Hoshor Plains on the forefinger of an alderman

She sucks in a breath, a sharp hiss, as the wolf goes down, struck by the powerful hooves. With haste, Megara travels down toward him, if only to pull him to safety before more of the animals reacted in fear and anger. She is about to set her teeth in his scruff when she pauses, eyes fixed, unblinking, on his face. 

It has been a long while and many steps since she's seen this countenance. But neither time nor space can erase a mother's memory of a child.

Moath? she whispers, at a loss for more words. Before he can answer, she nudges him, trying to get him upright again. Come. The bison are fearful; they will trample us both if we stay here. Even as lithe and quick as she is, an aged Megara is no match for the powerful, heavy beasts.