Whitewater Gorge The Door of Death is made of Gold

swept, buffetted, lashed — kukutux felt water pour from mouth, from nostrils, from lashes. she gasped, for surely the spirits had seen fit to save her, and clawed at the wet mud beneath her paws.

the woman who had plucked her from the swollen gallows lay some feet away, and the girl stumbled, dripping, to lay alongside her savior. 

kukutux had nothing — once more it had been lost, once more she would be forced to rebuild. but for now, she had the slight breadth of herself.

draping her slim and sodden frame across the other she-wolf, kukutux lowered her muzzle, seeking to see that the woman still breathed.