Dawn Treader Valley Það svíður mig í augun

They'd been on the move, aimless, untethered—a satelite out of orbit. Asenéth had always been a roamer, and they were fairly certain they would die as one.

This valley, it was no different to all the others they'd been to; the soil still felt like soil beneath their paw pads, the air tasted like air, and the ravens—they continued to infest the dead and the dying alongaside the maggots.

Asenéth had disemboweled a coyote some forty minutes prior. Bastard'd gotten her on the nose, nicked her with teeth that'd infuriated, and she'd choked it—had dragged the corpse for a while even, thrashed it on occasion.

Her face and chest were slicked in blood now crusted and dark, and it was this blood precisely that kept her from clocking the existence of company—that of a wolf and an elk.

The sound of rushed footfalls did, however, cause her ears to prick, and the wolf slowed, head lifting and tongue poking past her mouth to wet her nose.