Porcupine Ridge the sooner you fools accept that,

colt was having a fine dream, a fine dream about a glade and a den and redbird and —
the voice reached down and scooped him right out of it. he came searing back into agony and freezing-fever, the steady horrid tearing from the swiftcurrent wolves now only feeling half-healed instead of full.
"gawdammit, woman!" colt snarled, ignoring for a second that she smelled mighty good, the aftereffects of a season. "cain't yew leave a man t'die polite-like?"
colt struggled up to his shoulder anyway, squinting around them. he lifted a lip toward the stranger. "where am i? be quick about it." the rancour in his red eyes promised a good fight despite his ragged look.