She was cold. Had it been this cold before? No… She had felt unreasonably hot before, blood thundering through her veins, skin tingling, burning. Blood. She remembered the sticky liquid, how it seemed to burn as it spilled down her face, staining the pretty lilac fur. A low groan slipped past her lips, the sound foreign in her own ears. Her ears… It came back in pieces. Violette had removed one of them. Not fully, she could still feel it shift atop her skull, but it was raw and wet and felt odd. A chunk had been torn off. Another whimper.
Lacerations littered her body, her limbs were too weak for her to move. It had been light before, but as her eyes slowly opened, the ground around her was painted in silvery moonlight, highlighting the gruesome splashes of red. It was her blood. All hers. She hadn’t even tried to fight back, she had hoped her sister would take pity on her, maybe go a little easier. It would have been better if she died.
Somewhere along the way she had made a terrible mistake that landed her here. There was no one to blame but herself, surely. She didn’t call out for help, didn’t try to summon someone from the band to bring her broken body to camp. It would be better if she disappeared, most of them probably barely knew she existed, and while Indigo may worry, she would fade from his memory eventually. He had his other wolves that he took far more comfort in than he ever had in her. She had never really been one of them anyways. She didn’t try to pull her strength together, didn’t try to lift herself to her paws to crawl to safety. If she was lucky a predator would come put her out of her misery.
