Lion Head Mesa Doves and the boy

The lavish little items that Maggie had in her home did not go unchecked by the curious little shadow. When his gaze fell on the woman, he realized that it was the very same wolf who had pressed herself to Germanicus with such familiarity. He clenched his teeth and seethed for several breaths, trying to steady himself, to convince himself that he must tend to her wounds.

Crowfeather began to approach and press his nose to her figure, searching for the wounds that would be hidden, the bruises that would have caused internal damage. Maggie spoke to him in words that he scarcely understood.

No, I- was not entertained, I was not taken by Jawa’ir, I was not made into a man.

I am just a boy.

Damn these tears, Crowfeather cursed as his throat grew thick and his eyes stung madly.

Now can you tell me where you hurt the most?