Whittle Away the Time We Have

She frowned - scowled, actually, at the encroaching darkness. Like she could turn it back with a glare. It was easier than looking at her companion. She didn’t want to think too hard about men in the night. She didn’t want to see pity or irritation in his eyes.

She let out a soft sigh, letting the haunch fall to the ground for a moment, paws sinking into the snow as she flexed her pad against it and thought. Before she found the pack, her days had generally gone as - ran as far and fast as she could, collapse in a bundle wherever she found herself - Too exhausted to worry or feel the cold, she had slept. Woken the next day, and started again. Sometimes she was lucky enough to stumble upon a cave or somewhere warmer to spend the night, but she hadn’t had the wherewithal for a while to care enough to plan for it.

He was asking her how they would be surviving the night, and she was ashamed to realise she did not have a clue. She was a liability, a wolf likely to lash out or freeze in fear. One with no plan to help the two of them, when returning to the pack with the kill had been her idea. He was out here late because he had been helping her. The shame was heavy in her veins, and she let it roll through her for a moment. Wallowing in her own foolishness before letting out a soft breath. And shoving it angrily aside. “We aren’t too far from the mountains, perhaps we could find somewhere to bed down in there?” It would mean a little more trekking in the dark, but it was a better answer then ‘stop where they stood, curl into a ball, and hope for the best’
Once again, she was making this shit up as she went.

"Speech"