Emberflame Ridge Name my Price

Ordinarily, the shadow mistress would have uttered a growl in warning, for those who came to close. She was in too much discomfort to do even that. The hurried steps of the white she wolf spoke volumes. She was concerned. Gosh, did she really look in that bad of shape? 

Apparently the answer was yes. Yet another female, also pregnant, came rushing forward. Her voice was sweet...calming, but her statement clear. Dark ears quivered against her skull, dimly registering bits and pieces of what she had said. Sanctuary. Help you. Weakly, Tzila turned her dark crown to regard the pair of females (who seemed to know each other on some level) through weary eyes. Even through her ailment, there remained fragments of the look of a wolf who was quite used to surviving on their own. Didn't need...no...want the help of others. She was contemplating, clearly. 

Both of these females, so well fed and bursting with life, had to belong to a pack. And, according to the words of the kind female, hers wasn't far. Slowly, she shut her eyes for a long moment, an expression more so of struggle than of pain, racing across her femininely carved muzzle. I can't...I won't. I swore to never again! But what choice did she have really? With that realization hitting her like the slap of ice water to her face, Tzila opened her eyes to look at the pair again, resigned. "Just...try to go slow..." She uttered in a softer voice than usual. As soon as the scarred beauty was beside her, Tzila pressed her flank against her shoulder. A new wave of nausea, stronger than the others, hit her. Inadvertently, with a soft whine, she rested her forehead down into the downy soft fur of her neck. Maybe she was grateful...if only slightly.