(( @Lunaria has agreed to travel with Macaria and thus is welcome in all threads))
A sense of entrapment was not a sensation Macaria was familiar with. There were three things that could shake even the most steadfast beast- fire, the smell of the blood and death of one's own kind (barring creatures mad enough or queer enough to consume the flesh of their own death) and the fear of the trap.
With floodwaters pouring down from the mountains, the mass of waterways she found herself facing had quickly become far too turgid for a lone shewolf to cross. Much less one with still healing injuries. Her fur and skin had begun sloughing off around the wound- she needed herbs, and somewhere dry, before her flesh rotted away from the fungal infection and she became her beloved Ravens next meal. So bitterly, she turned, back towards the mountains, the bleakness broken a bit by the rain slowing to a drizzle, and the pretty dark shewolf trailing beside her.
"These flowers would be beautiful if they weren't all closed up from the rain...." She sighed unhappily. It should be a lesbian shewolf's dream- flouncing through a sunlit meadow in a field of daisies and foxglove. But the rain, and the throbbing sense of doom left the moment spoiled.
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