Blackfeather Woods and when the band plays "hail to the chief"

Whether or not the witch was sincere was not something Nightstar could judge; all wolves seemed to be little more than puppets and immitations, lately — himself, most notably. He took her at her word, and watched wordlessly as she took hold of the coyote and began to limp away with it.

Fool girl, he thought, and once again, felt a rather sharp stab of something. Pity, almost, but warmer than that — and annoyance, sharp and spice-scented but gone in the next instant.

He plodded after her, pawsteps heavy in her wake, and took the other side of the coyote gently but firmly in his own jaws. If she would not relinquish it entirely into his care, he clung stubbornly all the same, intending to carry the burden (or most of it) the rest of the way to the glen she spoke of.