Fox's Glade [m] biology, i am an organism, i'm chemical

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The participants have indicated the following reason(s) for this warning: heat thread + language

Her heat had truly begun now. There was no more denial or trying to ignore it. 
Wren may as well be dying. Wave after wave of urges that poison her and only grow stronger with every passing hour. Breeding. A mate. A man, a woman, someone, anyone to just fucking touch her. What she wanted was her cowboy back to the West, and yet every time she thought of him and his stupid yellow smile, the anger and resentment almost overtook the lust. The thoughts ping-pong around her mind at a thousand miles an hour and it makes her want to scream until her throat grows hoarse and her veins bulge.
And so that is exactly what she plans to do. 
Having figured she was now far enough away from the Creek, the glade was to become her temporary sanctuary. A place isolated... enough. The grass is lush and forgiving beneath her feet, and all is silent aside from the whistle of leaves with the breeze. 
And so with one big, deep breath, one that feels as if it takes up all of her lung capacity, the silence is broken. 
AAAAAAAAAAAHHH! 
It ricochets off of the trees, the four walls of grass around her and hits her ears in a way that makes them squeeze tight to her head. She stands there, panting hard, weary eyes focused on her claws that grip the grass and sink into the dirt. 
She wouldn't cry. She would not fucking cry. No, no, instead, she would sink down to the ground, knees buckling as she curls in on herself like a terrified, helpless fawn, and let her eyes grow blurry. But tears would not fall. 

One might ask: why was Mae so far from home?

Well, Mae would counter, why was Wren so far from home?! She didn't know her packmates by name or by face, but by now the girl had learned most of them by scent. This particular woman's scent had changed, she'd noticed. It was weird. That registered as illness to the young pup, who was already looking into making a full time job of minding other people's business. It just seemed like the thing to do. @Akavir and Shardik (@Swordfish) were always in her business, after all.

She had almost caught up to her packmate when the scream rang out. Mae flinched so hard she stumbled and fell wide-eyed onto her butt. She stared straight ahead, toward the source, with ears flat for a moment. Then she lunged into a run and came skidding to the scene of the crime, ready to chomp someone into next week. Except there was no crime. Just her packmate curled on the ground like a dying bug.

Mae sighed, and in her best imitation of Stern Akavir, marched over to the woman. Sick? She sniffed at her, poked her with a paw. Sick. Home. The little Mayfair lifted her head imperiously as she gave the command.

Of all the people Wren had anticipated following her, the dead last of her guesses was a child. Small and scrappy, a demanding little high-pitched voice scratches at the base of her eardrums. 
Her head whips around, squinting her eyes suspiciously as the fur of her neck prickles. Who the fuck was this kid? Where were her parents? Her nostrils flare as she liberally searches for an answer via scent, until she realizes. 
This is a Creek child. Akavir's, if she had to guess. 
An exhausted groan comes from cracked lips, head now buried between her two forepaws. Go away, kid, was her reply, and although she had meant for it to come out sharp, the blow landed softly. I'm not sick, and it's none of your fuckin' business why I'm out here. 
She adjusts herself to get a better look at the whelp, peeking from a sliver of light between her paw and the ground. She has Akavir's face. And his nosiness. 
Won't your dad be upset with you if he finds out you're this far away all alone? 

Mae snorted. Not alone, This woman was very dense, wasn't she? There was only one thing to do when her brothers wouldn't listen, and so Mae applied a similar logic to this situation. In the face of her packmate's stubbornness, she opted to lunge for her toes with jaws snapping; it might have been piranha-like if there was any accuracy to it. She was certain Akavir would be much more cross with Wren for leaving while she was clearly sick, and she was not going to take no for an answer.

Today had become a day of learning things, apparently. On top of being blessed - or cursed - with the knowledge that Akavir had at least one child, she was now unfortunately victim to puppy teeth. Which were sharp.
What the fuck is wrong wit' you?! Came a knee-jerk response, ripping herself further away from the insolent brat and tucking her paws under her chest. Jesus Christ, daddy never taught yah fuckin' manners, did he? 
On top of her hormonal irritability and all the daydreaming of murder she'd been doing, this child seemed dead set on making it worse. Her teeth flash with a tight curl of her lip, followed by a warning snarl. Are you fuckin' deaf? Leave me alone. You're not my problem today.  

Oh, but she was mistaken; Mae was very much her problem today, and had no intentions of changing that. In the absence of paws to bite, she went instead for fur. After a few failed attempts, she managed to get a good grip on a chunk of fur at the woman's flank, and began to pull. She wasn't trying to rip her fur out, didn't even think of that as a possibility. What she imagined was that she would drag her packmate back to Swiftcurrent Creek, and Akavir would praise her for her diligence and find Wren a den of her own to be confined to.

What actually happened was this: whether her grasp slipped or the fur came loose, something gave. Mae, who had been pulling with all her might, went tumbling backward and flipped over once. She landed in a heap, then staggered to her feet and started to scream.

And to think just mere moments ago Wren may have thought that this could not possibly get any worse. 
Oh my god, shut the fuck up! The child's wailing was like the sound of screeching tires; unending, and shockingly loud. It was in this moment that Wren knew, definitively, that she would be an abysmally shitty mother. 
With ears that folded back in a feeble attempt at drowning out the noise, Wren does the one thing she can think to do. She hoists herself to her paws, nudges the child with the tip of her nose, and tries to pick her up by the scruff. I'm takin' yah home, she mumbles, muffled by the inky fur that softened her teeth. so your fuckin' fatha can deal with yah then. 

Over her screaming, Mae just barely made out the word home. That quieted her quickly enough, and she even allowed herself to be picked up. Still, she was not one to be easily subdued. Nothing would stop her from twisting in her packmate's grasp, trying to paw at and nip any part of her that she could reach. She was much more good-natured in her roughhousing now, at least.

Still, it would be a long trip home for both of them. Mae was worried, underneath all her demands and her teeth. She couldn't shake the feeling that her packmate was very very sick, and that didn't sit well with her.

can fade here and/or carry this over to SCC if you want!!

Wren had successfully quieted the screaming, although the thrashing was still an issue. By this point, she had given up on trying to argue against it and simply offers a dry, crackly laugh in a last-ditch effort at maintaining her sanity. Perhaps instinctually she was supposed to find these antics endearing, but all it did was make her feel as if she'd swallowed a stone. 
She was no mother. But she would like to think of herself as a decent enough person. 
And so their trek home begins, with the occasionally tightening grip to prevent the child from falling. She would just have to wait until the grub wasn't looking to make her second attempt at finding respite.