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As I'll ever be, she replied, then motioned for Prowler to get beneath her. The last thing she needed was for her well-trained friend to be eaten on sight. The first to arrive was not Etienne at all, but a wolf Fiona barely recognized from a very brief encounter in the earlier days of winter.

Javelina, she replied, surprise evident in her voice. Anselm had not mentioned anybody by that name, and yet here she was. At the time, Fiona had merely warned her off the hollow, and for good reason. Anselm wasn't a particularly friendly wolf, and Fiona hadn't quite gotten a handle on what exactly was going on there. He had never taken kindly to wounded birds as Etienne had. Oddly enough, the day Fiona and Javelina had met had been the first day that she had begun to prepare the tincture that kept mother nature at bay.

It seemed Javelina had not procured such a thing. She was wrapped in the smell of several children, and her belly hung low, heavy with milk. The witch did not wish that upon anyone, least of all herself. She couldn't help the momentary look of disgust at the thought of being bloated with children, then having them hang off her teats for weeks afterward.