face down, burnt out

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She was limping.
Actually, she was bruised all over, and if her fur could mask the marks on her skin, it did nothing to hide the pain in her muscles, the stiff gait of her battered body, and the tension she kept in her jaw to refrain from grimacing at every step.

Right after her dangerous adventure in the savannah (Arenrak Pass was its name, but Amapola had never heard it), the wolf decided to move towards the south. She had found an ally but lost him right away — and she didn’t like the idea of waiting around where she got hurt; waiting, maybe, for the terrifying beasts to come back.

Still, when she thought of them, a slight smile came tugging at her lips — back home she saw a few men riding the bulls in the arena, but she never imagined she could do the same in this strange new place.

The smile didn’t last long though. The pain quickly reappeared, and Amapola started to worry about her near future. She was wandering aimlessly, alone, and didn’t last a single day without getting injured. If this was the start of a new life, it wasn’t going too well.

Her ears suddenly perked up — a splash of water, not far from her. Curiosity led her closer, but as soon as she saw the other wolf, Amapola stopped. This one seemed busy, and if Ama had learned one thing from her most recent adventure, it was that mingling in someone else’s business could too easily put her in harm’s way. She had made the mistake of interfering with whatever Achille was doing; she wouldn’t repeat that mistake this quickly.

Still, sneaking away now could be misinterpreted. She didn’t want to make herself look suspicious and shifty, for she was in no state to fight or to run away — so she slowly laid down, unthreatening and obedient. She wouldn’t dare force an encounter; if she was ignored, she would go away, if she was approached, she would respond accordingly. But despite her apparent calm, she was hoping with everything she had that this one would be a benevolent creature — she was far too aware that right now, she was nothing but an easy target. Her pain was palpable, her swollen wrists quite obvious, and she was sure anyone could smell the hurt on her.

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