Ouroboros Spine Be the singer and the speaker

The longer Shemesh waited, the harder it was to sit still. She sniffed the air expectantly, before huffing and rubbing her snout against her shoulder. The border smelled so strongly of wolf that it was almost unpleasant. Too many scents mingled here for her to smell beyond it — and even if she could, the wind was at her back.

A small, dark red shape drew her eye, occasionally illuminated by a ray of sun through the trees. Ajei! Shemesh squinted happily and nodded. ”Of course!” She yipped, her ears splayed sideways in thanks. ”You’re great company.”

Shemesh wondered where Ajei’s geode was. She’d schlepped her piece all the way to the coast and back, before burying the little treasure under a rock stack near a stream. The tchotchke had quickly become Shemesh’s most prized possession — though its competition consisted of chewing sticks, marrow bones, and tasty feathers.

A small, white wolf separated them before she could ask, appearing from between the trees as if she’d sprung from their bark. Shemesh shuffled backward and averted her gaze. I’m lost. I’m looking for a road that will take me home, but I can’t find any roads at all,” she said, the last syllable drawn out in a nervous whine. ”A Spear wolf… Alaric! He didn’t know what I was talking about, but he said the Moonwoman might.”