Wheeling Gull Isle highwayside

infection has set in, enough to bring heat to the surface of her skin, fatigue settled like a cloud over her skull. she's not allowed any near, burning slowly with fury. one on hand, she wants more than anything to break the boy's other hind limb, see how he'd get around with two legs. but logically, she understands the laws of territory and fang, and berates her own foolishness in tempting the sea. 

evening is settling in, tired sunlight dappling the trees over where she lays. with a grunt, she shifts, curling in on herself (a task not made easy by her sores and size) to examine the broken limb, swiping her tongue over it in broad strokes over the bruised and swollen portion of the limb, despite the throbbing that begins anew from the site of the break. 

@Minori