Outskirts of Blacktooth Camp
I just want to go home, Shani thought. Oh. Right. I never had one. Definitely don’t have one now.
She walked alongside Luan, who thankfully adjusted his longer stride to match her shorter one, in easy silence further into the approaching night. She’d never seen nighttime outside of Bloodrose or Blacktooth, not counting Midmoon, and though the canopy of trees blocked most of the view, the indigo sky sparkled with a million stars. Somehow just seeing the tiny spots calmed her.
She pushed up her sleeve. Her arm still ached with phantom pain, and she wasn’t surprised, upon more scrutiny, that there were now faint scars marring her skin. Her throat tightened.
All wolves were peppered with scars. They were a wild species—how could they remain flawless? Their rapid healing could do miracles, but if the wound was severe enough…scars could remain. But they were marks of pride. Proof that they’d suffered and survived. This was Shani’s first true survival mark.