boots with the fur

It wasn't so much a den as it was a windbreak. While the intent had been for her to find refuge within her father's pack, atop the freezing mountain, the summer in Boreas was untenable with her condition and with no parents or brother to tether her in place, she had drifted south once more, setting up near the runestones, trying to decipher their glowing message and just who might have left it behind for her to find.

She had only left in search of food, and when she returned a dark grey and brown lump had claimed her little divot sheltered from the wind. Lips curled back from her teeth in a ferocious show, but the seasons hadn't been kind to her, and when three heads popped up from the fur pile, she considered her odds.

But where else would she go?

Bending her joints and rolling her shoulders forward to push out the crystals around her neck, quills bristling over her back half, she made up her mind. If the small pack of coyotes wanted to steal her sleeping spot they could fight her for it. She clicked her teeth in warning, the gesture punctuated with a growl. They could shove off, or she'd turn them into blankets.

"speech"