Whitefish River It's been one week

It wasn't long until her mother rushed in to care for her. The girl's cries died out slowly, one by one, and she grunted a few times to make sure they all knew she was still a little disgruntled. The last remnants of the dreams escaped her, she was no longer a grown wolf running but she was here again, this. There was something both extremely uncomfortable about this, here, as well as something very comfortable. Not in control over herself, and yet warm and fed and cared for.

Spica pressed herself against her look-a-like and lifted her nose towards her mother, blindly reaching out.