Herbalists' Cache cen

pain bloomed sharp in her ribs. the kick sent her staggering—but not far.
she had known worse. had survived worse.
she found her footing in snow and blood.
and then she snarled—a sound so guttural it clawed from a place deeper than rage. deeper than betrayal. this was the cry of a mother who had buried children. who had bled for freedom. who had built herself from ash and bone and refused to be broken again.
she lunged—not with desperation, but precision. her jaws sought the thick, dark scruff at his neck, and her paws struck, curling around his broad skull, claws raking down the side of his face. she felt the bite of them. she wanted to feel it.
look at me! she bellowed, voice raw, fury incarnate. face the woman you underestimated.
her body pressed hard into his, toppling them over.
her eyes flicked—once—to the girl. broken. bleeding.
run.
please.
i'll hold him.
she didn’t need words. her stare said it all.
and then she turned back to him, blood soaking her claws, her muzzle. his blood.
caan’s cries pierced the air, sharp and high and helpless.
he had seen. her son had seen everything.
and she would not let this be the story etched into his heart.
morwenna's teeth bared once more.
she would not stop.
not until this monster remembered who he had married—
and why it would damn him.