Hushed Willows I'll stake rare toothpicks in my dirt-filled heart

Mae drifted in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of the golden girl and her efforts. Nothing quite roused her until the howls, though. She twitched at the sound of the first two, but the third was much closer, much louder. Mae sat up, eyes hazy. She didn't know that voice. She didn't know either of them. But maybe they could help.

She called back, a low note that died too soon in her throat, and leaned back against the ground with a small gasp.