Emberwood pestilence at its finest

A frown clouded her features. A fight, and then sick? Meadow pointedly studied the she-wolf from afar—the shuddering cough, the pain and exhaustion. Death was imminent, there would be no softening that. But why. Had the other just been sick with something? Or had infection set in? She didn’t seem terribly harmed—at least not from this distance.

“Were you injured?” She had to know—a certain fear beginning to claw at her heart. Something was amiss.

But the silence would stretch between them--unanswered, and unknown. The other had fallen asleep, and Meadow would fight with herself a moment, between staying and helping... and leaving. In the end, the health of Epoch came first, and with one final glance, the silver wolf turned, feeling like she was willingly turning her back on death.