No one mourns the wicked
#3
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The cold pile of bones and fur shook, twitching, teeth almost chattering from the cold that she felt. A voice brought her back to the surface of her sub-conscience and she managed to creak one green eye open for a few seconds before shutting it firmly. From where she lay she couldn't see anyone...it was just another voice. Another bit of insanity. There was no one around.


But then she sensed movement, paws making deep prints in the sand next to her body. Wind whipped over her, picking up a bit of sand and sending the stranger's scent into her twitching nose, though it didn't catch hold of her soaked fur. She tried to shout, tried to speak, but pain shot through her muzzle when she did. She made a muffled sound of distress, small yips to show him that she wasn't completely gone yet.

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