Wild Berry Meadow Tell everybody I'm on my way

Needle’s ears splayed in contempt.

So bossy.

She was getting used to it—enjoying it more than she would ever care to admit. The structure he gave her, the teachings, the directions, it all came harshly. Unforgiving. Uncompromising. But he stimulated her mind, gave her purpose. Where the rogues had expected her blind obedience, cazador expected her to be better.

Still, she was a child; one who snorted at his explanation, turned her nose up at it and pretended not to listen. And neither would she quail beneath his withering gaze, a look that would cut lesser wolves to ribbons. To the threat, she huffed before mocking him. You’d do well to drag my corpse up those mountains and not complain.

Then from the corner of her nosy little eye, she spied him take one. A bouncing little fruit. The leaves rattled from where he had plucked it.

Her posture loosened, slowly easing into another investigation of the berries. Gingerly, she plucked one of her own and burst it between her teeth with more force than necessary. It was not nearly as tough as meat and gone in an instant.

Surprised at first, Needle’s eyes lit up at the taste, then pushed forward to rifle through the foliage, reaping berry after berry.