Fox's Glade thonbluma

with great effort, the widow made it to the foxglade where at last she was forced to fold her wearied legs and drop her body down onto the cold earth.
she would hunt in the morning, heda told herself, curling her body tightly against the thin stems of bent saplings. her tongue probed the new space along the back of one jaw where she had lost a tooth in her fighting.
there was no god. she swallowed her hunger and tried to doze, ears alert for footsteps though all that echoed were the eldritch screams of courting foxes.