Bramblepoint for neither ever, nor never

she's not thinking about drago, anymore, nor the moonspear wolves that had taken them in. in her rage, isilme is selfish, horribly, terribly selfish. flying through the wood, stumbling and falling and getting back up again, stale blood and bile still clinging to her pelt, she can think only of the thing their father had been reduced to, in death. she can still taste his fur between her teeth, and every so often twitches violently, the flies that had surrounded Verx's body still vivid. 

her breath catches as she falls onto her face, landing half on her side. scrambling, desperate, she lurches back to her feet. she can't possibly be still, can't stop moving. trembling, panting through bile-rimmed lips, she surges onward.