Fox's Glade [m] Take these broken wings

Swift steps, and sure ones--a lesson she'd learned young as she hunted. Hesitation meant the meal would be lost; hesitation meant death. Thistle had always thought her uncle Kaisyn had meant death by starvation, and it was a lesson she hardly ever thought about because of it. It popped into her head as she slipped beneath the larger wolf, distracting her as she was trying to decide which way to run. Back to Easthollow, surely, and--oh, this is what Uncle meant.

She hesitated, and the monster behind her did not miss his next lunge. Her yelp was high-pitched enough to match the scream of a fox as teeth sank into her scruff, deep enough to draw blood. She thrashed even as she was dragged backward, kicking out and snapping ineffectively. Her heart hammered in her chest, a steady tattoo of no, please as the larger wolf threw his weight down on her. A breathless whine as she was smashed into the ground, feeling a distinct creak in her ribs from the force of it. She tried to bite back, but she knew she was trapped; she couldn't move him by herself.

She wanted to snarl at him to get off her; she wanted to beg for freedom; she wanted to flee. But most of all, she wanted--Evergreen!