Kintla Flatlands Now and at the hour of our death, amen

The saga continues (and come to its finale). This takes place not long after this.

Dripping wet and shivering, Junior climbed out of the river. The fever had broken at last, leaving her weary to the bone. Now that she was entirely alert, she knew she was at the end of her rope. Just because the fever was gone didn't mean she was out of the woods yet. Her legs were still badly mangled—especially where Pura's teeth had reopened the wounds—and only lying absolutely still and sleeping for days would give her a fighting chance.

Aware of her brother in her peripheral vision, Junior took a few steps on her shaky legs, the left bleeding freely, then sank down to the cold, dry grass. "I think I'm dying," she whispered, looking down at the wounds littering her forelimbs. She tumbled gently onto her side, momentarily lacking even the strength to stay upright. "Am I—"

She cut off mid-sentence as she heard the telltale sound of running feet pounding in her direction. They were coming, probably because of her screech. She felt some relief. Pura alone couldn't help her. But if the pack came to her aid, she might make it, with the fever gone now. With the last of her strength, Junior pushed herself back into a sphinx pose, her injured legs stretched out in front of her for all to see.