Emberflame Ridge Whatever you wish for, you keep

Nutuyikruk's head whirled at the first clasp, thrashing wildly and spinning when let go. 

Muskrat came, and Sedna did not.

Makono came, and Sedna did not.

She'd not stopped the thoughts the came crashing in waves, or the way that being grabbed had made her feel. Perhaps that had been the burning memories of her first breath given to Muskrat, or the day she had been cradled in the jaws of Zharille. Maybe it had been when her aaka had first moved her into a strangers den where she'd later hear her family fracture. Who had grabbed her that had not changed the trajectory of her life, her home? 

Whatever it was that spun out of the child was then violent, and maybe she'd owe thanks to Muskrat for the snaps that hit the wind that spun from her own mouth, her own body. And Zharille, a thanks for showing how to use them, and how to accept the feeling of something wild. Harsh memories spun a web of something new. It may have been undeserving, even, that the stranger was given not a second of calm. Nutuyikruk knew how that was.

And still there she was at the tail of the woman, taking harsh jumps to follow and sprinting, and feeling blood rush across her that was lively. The strangers tail was narrowly missed by the lynx's teeth until she could no longer keep up.