Blacktail Deer Plateau You can't stomach that stuff, that's not in you

I'm cool with whatever direction it goes in! Not one to force threads one way or another, but if I see a way to turn it that way I'll try to do so.

She was relieved to hear this home hadn't been burned in the fire that caused his wound. She couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose Ankyra Sound in such a fashion. They had, in a way, but somehow the damage caused by the sea felt less permanent than that caused by fire. Perhaps that was only because of Nieve's affinity for the ocean. She could not believe it would cause lasting harm to the wolves who called it home.

When she was invited to study Rosencrantz's wound, Nieve leaned forward ever so slightly to do so, and found she didn't want to look at it. The flesh was puckered in places and silky smooth in others, as though the very constitution of his flesh had been altered by the fire. Like melted wax, she might say, if she knew what such a thing was. Describe what it could have been like, said Rosencrantz, and Nieve shook her head slowly.

I can't begin to imagine what it was like, she answered. She had little to compare it to. No doubt it was the worst pain imaginable, having your fur singed off and your skin turned to something like liquid. It must have felt ... like nothing else in the world could be so bad as that, she guessed, cringing a little at how poorly put that was.

She had the befuddling thought that prey must feel the same way when wolves began to feast on them while they still breathed ... and then she put that from her mind as quickly as possible.