Lone Star Mountain [m] the jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

She did not remember picking herself up.

She did not remember climbing through the mountains, trudging on and on until the blood had dried in her fur and the stink of infection began to cloud her own scent. Her eyes were fixed ahead, hollow, yet she was hyper-aware of every sound; every flicker of movement. A creature reduced to instinct.

And the man; Lasher; he whispered things to her all the while. Things she would not remember. Secrets of the stars and the deep hidden places in the earth.

Mae was dying.

Rotting.

It was the scent of blood which drew her from her haze. Fox. Blood. Blood. Blood. Mae's head lowered instinctively, gait slowing to a slinking prowl. Silver eyes sharpened; focused. The fox was dead, and the trail of a wolf led away from it.

She found a girl, crying. A pretty girl, all sunlit and gemstone eyes in two different colors she'd never seen in a wolf's eyes before. And were she not so weak, so torn to shreds and burning with infection, she might have been smitten. Mae opened her mouth to say something.

But no words came.

She stared at the girl. She was such a pretty shade of gold.