Porcupine Ridge the things we lost in the fire, fire, fire

Movement, and her eyes darted, finding the pale woman nearby. What? she asked, slightly testily — who stared like that, besides someone who wanted a fight? 

And then Miyako noticed the jagged scars cutting through the ivory pelt, and found that her breath came short.

Just like yesterday. . .

Can I help you? she added, a little more politely. There was a kinship between them, one she wasn't certain she liked. Nothing against the woman; anything that reminded her of trauma born from storm clouds was unwelcome. Even those closest to her knew not to broach the subject. 

That singed, senseless wolf: that had been Snowe, and Miyako had long left her behind.