My blood is yours

Tempest lay, prone, for a night and a day. pain slowly faded into a dull ache, but terror increased, and every rustling of the underbrush was a wolf, coming to finish her off. Why had she ever left Redhawk Caldera? Tears grew at the corner of her eyes, and she let them fall. But on the dawn of that day, the last tear fell and she stood. Shakily, but stood. The rush of a creek led her north, and she stumbled and fell many times. But she was stubborn, and some hour later arrived at a creek, wide and clear. Collapsing on the banks of the rushing sliver of water, she allowed the water to rush over her. Blood was swept away, but most importantly her fathers stench. Her wounds stung as the cold water touched them, but after a while the river began to dull the pain.

As the dusk grew heavy, she stood and looked down into the swirling currents. Reflected in them, was Tempest, outlined by the orange sunset. She turned slowly, allowing her shoulder to be in full view. Carved into it, carved by her own father's claws, was a winding scar. Deep and bloody, she strained to see it but the blood didn't allow for a better look. It, of all the wounds, hurt the most. The cut on her stomach was shallow, it would heal quickly. But this...this would remain, haunt her of that terrible day.