Honeyed Pasture that's [m]y body, it's a device

Raelle's own season was an elusive thing, perhaps delayed by the scarcity which had defined her earliest months. In many ways she felt still caught in the body of a girl — so perhaps there was some jealousy in it when she woke to find Mercy's heat upon them. Just a little.

Mostly she felt — stabby. Yes, that was a good word for it. Rae's own pace was quicker than Mercy's as they traveled, but rather than trailing ahead, she circled the red-furred girl. Back and forth she drifted, growling softly each time a foreign wolf-scent carried to them on the breeze. Her gaze darted across the field every few moments, scanning for figures, but it always returned to Mercy before long. If she was honest, Rae didn't like this. Not one bit.

She had a nagging feeling that it would come to a fight before Mercy's season had passed.