Porcupine Ridge [m] So light your matches, and I will rise

Reverie tasted blood on her lips, and her weary smile to be alive soon faded as reality set in. Her head hurt, foremost. Blood seeped through the grass around her skull, into her muzzle, into the fur at her ear and her neck. Her chest hurt with every breath. Broken ribs, she thought numbly, and her leg — oh, her leg —
She lifted her head to look and cried out at the movement, and again when she saw the unnatural angle of her leg. Broken, it was broken. She was broken. And she started to cry then, and that hurt too, so fiercely that her sobs quieted as quickly as they'd begun. In the silence she heard footsteps. Someone was coming. Amalia? It was her, surely, but who she hoped for was —
Boone? Her voice cracked as she let her head fall back against the blood-soaked grass, and silently she cried. She wanted her father. She wanted her daughter. She wanted her husband. Please.