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059 | GRAVEL AND HONEY

Blind panic consumed me. I barely felt the bite of the cold as I ran, my body nothing more than muscle and sinew and tendon, each working with the next as I coiled and sprung, coiled and sprung, slipped and skidded across the Winterpaw Warrior Pack’s frozen territory.

My wounds closed up as I ran, but there was a rush of dizziness from the blood loss that slowed my pace every few hundred yards or so. I did not dare look back for fear that Nazte would be at my tail, his teeth gleaming with my blood.

There was one thought, one name, at the heart of my pounding blood and straining muscles. Thinking it made the panic flare brighter, so I tried to think of nothing as I ran. I pictured him instead, the wolf I had first seen in my dream, all those long months ago. Black, with a white crescent on his forehead. The smell of cedar and woodsmoke, earthy and warm amidst the barren landscape of snow and ice and rock. His voice – that low, warm growl, the one that made my insides heat and squirm. G
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