A warrior doesn’t choose her battles

Was this the fourth time? Or was it the fifth? At this point she had lost count and was there even a point in counting the loss of her homes? Her shattered family reminded her of the days when her mother had begun to drift from her depression. As a child Voodoo had been too young to fully understand but now in the clutches of life she felt like a fly struggling to get out of a spiders web. Had the gods gone as far as to curse her. What of her sons and daughters, they were getting older and voodoo cursed herself for not trying to find the time to teach them what they needed. No doubt phantom was independently taking on the world. While her daughters were nearby, Jay and Tomie having attached themselves to a mother during unforeseen unfortunate circumstances. Voodoos muscles still aches, but they were covered in patches of herbs. Perhaps instead of trying to climb she should try to concentrate on her healing skills.

Voodoo let out a breath, letting the cool morning air flow through her fur. The east she hadn’t explored much. Her paws stood on an invisible scent line, respectfully keeping a distance from the newly formed pack. She should have come when he called, but she had wanted the loss to settle in her before attempting more politics. The gray and black woman raised her head in a summoning howl. Once again, she hoped at least this pack wouldn’t crumble underneath her feet.