Dragoncrest Cliffs Blackpine

There was a charred bitterness to the scent that she carried. Worse, where the limb of wood pressed against her stinging flesh, there was the cooked meat of her haunch. The slightest disturbance to the log tugged at the skin which had adhered there. Thankfully it was only the sag of the ocean's withdrawal that caused a mindless tugging and not, say, the wolves that came traipsing along.

One, the man with a red tail, had stooped among the debris. Heidr was not aware of him so much; her mind was empty of herself, but from above she thought she could see herself down there, moored by the black shards and the stones.

A red thing crept alongside the man. Thin and sharp, young, going bug-eyed soon enough.

Kom deg bort! She wanted to shout, but her mouth wouldn't move, the sound only a figment of her imagination. She was not above herself at all; she was not conscious or self-aware in any regard, but haunted the space as some entity removed from the mortal coil.

There would be no true response to either wolf, only the autonomic reaction of those sides rising and sagging to breathe, or shuddering from the cold and the salt that now cured her soaked body.