Lion Head Mesa Doves and the boy

The dark wolf stirred at the sound of the pale woman’s voice. She seemed to be calling out for her mother. A pang struck Crowfeather’s heart. He turned his head away from her, as though he had been intruding on the woman’s private moment. Of course, it was likely the drugs that had carried her away into sleep. The shadow could not help but to watch her closely, fearfully.

As Maggie rested, Crowfeather slipped from her den and searched for lavender. He spent nearly two hours searching for the white-flower feverfew. Just before giving up, he found a small patch and plucked as many as he could carry back to the injured woman.

When Crowfeather arrived back at her resting site, he stepped in quietly and arranged the flowers near Maggie. The dark shape then took a spot in the corner where his lantern eyes remained trained on the slow rise and fall of Maggie’s chest.