In the gloom of the den nestled the ghostly silhouette of a waifish creature - neither dog nor wolf but something else entirely. She, the mysterious beast, seemed some spirit of the wood itself - fae-like, spiritual in some sense, a still and tiny perch for three fuzzy nestlings. These were the only children left to her.
The grey morn was made dreary by the overcast sky and the downpour of the heavens, a musical symphony of droplets as they smashed to the earth beyond the threshold - observed by distant, soulful eyes of starshine.
The first movement in hours was made, a contemplative sigh - rattling in its attempt to breathe out the persistent nausea of fear hiding within.
Briefly her eyes would shut, brow rumpling, though she would not sleep. No, this brief moment was reserved for the pain - a time when she would allow herself to feel it.
How could she have ever been so foolish to believe she was worth fighting for?
"You see, I got a bullet for a tooth and
I'm gonna use it to shoot you."
I'm gonna use it to shoot you."
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