disquiet

She hadn't uttered a word since Kierkegaard had led her away from the riverside where he'd discovered her. Her paw continued to ache, but she didn't dare whine about it; she'd alerted her caretaker to her discomfort and she could only assume that he would help. That's what grownups were for, right?

The sooty girl didn't have the slightest clue where he was taking her, but in her ignorant little mind she knew she would be safe. She had no real understanding of the dangers of the wilderness and the threatening circumstance she'd put herself in. She had no idea that Kierkegaard was just as capable of killing her as he was looking after her.

With her milky blue gaze fixed up ahead, she watched as the burly male stopped abruptly. The whelp wasted no time in hurrying up to him, pressing her tiny form against his right hind leg. Lifting her head to the breeze, she inhaled the strange, unfamiliar scents that hung in the air. Her speckled nose wriggled with curiosity.

Kierkegaard howled for someone, and Signe assumed it was the wolf he'd told her about earlier. Soon enough a dark-furred female drew near them, and Signe peered up into her piercing gaze unabashedly. She kept quiet, waiting for the adults to converse before she made another step or said a word.