Blackfeather Woods of all that breath and crawl upon the earth

the journey from outside the borders to here, wrapped limply around her fussing children, is a haze. it is clear, now, their bat-like ears, their cries, and relief is heavy and sweet. she sighs, blinking, and considers the wound leaking blood on her forelimb. nothing seems broken (or she doubts she would have made it here with the speed that she did) but her dew claw is raw and barely attached to the rest of her leg, the pad torn upward from the bottom in a way that has her leave it alone, at the moment. the wounds on her face seem more manageable, but first, she settles for attempting to calm her young, adrenaline driving through her veins still.