Duck Lake I like driving backwards in the fog

Her head canted—the other stretched to her belly. She waited a moment, considering simply leaving the woman to her peace. After all, was the silver arrow not a harbinger of abandonment? Those she held close to her would leave—those she trusted would vanish.

Placing ones self in such a precarious position again was far from appealing. Yet as the dark wolf shifted, turning, uncomfortable? Meadow’s gaze snapped back to her, one paw lifted mid-air as she meant to take action, to vanish. An act perfected when reliving it so often. But eyes found her, and while any noise drowned under the rowdy fowl, the polite nod was a vice on her heart momentarily, and she felt a quake in her chest.

She gave a small nod back, frozen in place—a deer in headlights.