Word Count :: 310
The winter stillness of the coast struck the silver-shaded coyote that afternoon, and she found herself staring listlessly at the bleakly gray skyline, finding it a stark contrast from the lovely summer. Winter was no longer a favored season to the scarred woman -- the cold weather sunk into her bones and made her feel a good five years older than she actually was. Near-death was no way to feel, but at least Clover's medicine had alleviated the pain for the most part. Perhaps that was part of the reason for the listless staring, too -- she still felt the humming edge of the drug, though it was far from unpleasant.
The scarred woman contemplated her own leadership more often than she liked, now -- did Gabriel really have an advantage with a rattled old woman, buzzed half the time and too aching to be of any use in a fight anymore, as his subleader? Did he not deserve someone younger, with more power and time left than she had? The hybrid woman did not honestly wish to give up her position; she did not know if her time as a leader had truly passed. Maybe she still had some use left in her for this clan -- when the time came that she ceased to be at all capable, Gabriel would know. The scarred woman was comforted by this, in a way -- Inferni had survived the worst in his hands, and it would go on without her, just as it had in her absences.
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