Ouroboros Spine like the breaking of glass

The sound of the bez tines catching in the earth distracted him from all others, even as a sweeping wind pulsed through the eaves of the trees; but when he stopped for a breath and could hear only the thundering of his overworked heart, Raimo finally had a moment to collect himself. The half-set of antler had been dragged deep against the soil so that it stood on its own and no manner of tugging would free it, which meant Raimo had to stop, relax, and think. It was then that he heard the voice of another — a simple alerting sound that drew his eye, his mouth open in a garish display of panting.

He did not recognize this wolf at first. The sight of the stranger caused a ripple effect of anxiety through him. She was not much to look at: a mess of autumn shades clinging to a thin figure, bright-eyed and young. The wag of her tail wasn't hard to miss, nor was the shy approach as she ventured towards the curve of his prize.

You are one of the refugees, he remembered abruptly, although the memory did not cleanse his look of reproach. You should be with them, Raimo pointed out. Your people stay in their own place beneath the mountain. It was not meant as an insult but the monotone of Raimo's voice could have been misconstrued easily.