Witch's Marsh They don't believe in us, but I believe we're the enemy

lol @ Jezza

He blinked his eyes which had begun to stream tears, also in an attempt to blur out the image of the corpse. He'd never seen a dead wolf, and now fought with the realization that some day, he too would look like that. There was very little dignity in dying, and whoever it was that had died there had had absolutely none. 

He continued to run, and caught sight of Mae in the distance- buckled over and still, being approached by an adult. Skáld did not recognize the other wolf, and in his cowardice, he averted his path, not wanting any conflict. He knew he should go for the child, but ran several hundred metres away before he slid to a stop and turned to look over his shoulder. 

The child was no longer there- and in the distance, he could barely see the retreating figure of the brown wolf fading like woodsmoke with something large in her grasp. 

His heart pounded. 

He turned, and bolted after her just as her figure disappeared in the fog. Fortunately, the damp earth made it easy to track her pawprints, and eventually, he saw her, hovering over the puppy. The lidless eyes of the corpse seemed to be fixed upon them. Skáld felt the urge to flee again, but forced himself to approach, his head lowered and hackles bristling. His limbs shook, and it was with an uneasy yip that he sought the woman's attention.