Dating this thread to the 6th, if that’s all right, cause the bear attack technically happened today. XD
The fires of the kitchen were larger and hotter than those of her little cave, and Finn soaked in the glow, trying to convert that heat into some kind of soothing balm for her cuts and bruises. The battered she-wolf lay in a small alcove out of the way of the main floor, so that she might not be underfoot of any who would use the kitchen for it’s real purpose. However, the cavern was empty, and thus Finn was able to peruse her latest find with only the crackle of flames to meddle with her concentration. Well, the flames, and the aforementioned cuts and bruises.
Finn shifted uncomfortably. It seemed that every surface she endeavored to lay upon the stone was injured in some way, leaving her tossing and turning with faint grumbles and mutterings. This was, by far, the worst outcome of a fight. Give her the shortness of breath, the surging of blood, her heart beating so fast it might burst. Give her the immediate and scintillating pain of a freshly cut wound. But gods save her from the aches and pains of the day after. Finn had been treated by the most adept medic in the pack, Panda, soon after the bear had been felled, and while she was hopefully safe from infection, there wasn’t much she could do about sore joints and achy muscles.
So she read. Or tried to, at least. Finn’s pale gaze returned to the book propped up between her forelegs, pale eyes flickering over the words. What did they mean? It was like staring at a locked gate and trying to open it with your mind. This particular tome concerned birds of North America, and while the pictures were pretty in and of themselves, Finn was quickly growing frustrated by her lack of knowledge. She wanted to learn, she really did! But it was almost embarrassing that she didn’t know how, and the she-wolf felt the heat of embarrassment, more piercing even than the fire, at the thought of asking someone for their help.
In the end, Finn had learned that the only person one could really, truly rely upon was oneself. Friends were fine and good, but eventually something would happen and they would fade from her life even as they remained vivid in her memories. Though her father had taught her how to fight, Finn had learned all the rest herself. She had to, or she would have died upon some snowy mountaintop long, long ago. But it seemed that strength and speed and skill did not translate onto the page, and so the wolf who had, up until a few weeks ago, been a ceaseless wanderer, was left clueless.
Finn turned a page carefully with her snout, staring intently at the image there. “That’s simple, then. It’s a bluejay!” She muttered, looking down at the little text below the picture, hoping for a shot of inspiration or divine instruction. They were still just squiggles in ink, though. A little faded from time and exposure, but still legible, hopefully. It wasn’t as if Finn would know if they weren’t. “Bah,” The she-wolf huffed, turning away from the book to stare back at the fire.
Did everything have a language? Finn knew that the lower animals could, and did, speak to each other. Some wolves even mastered the tongue. But what about fire, or stone? Was that crackling she heard the sound of the the flames singing themselves to sleep? Were the avalanches that occasionally tumbled down the steep slopes of the Halycons, just one mountain shouting a greeting to another? Finn had never met a wolf who could speak to a rock. She imagined it would be a very slow and ponderous activity. Finn lapsed further into her strange little thoughts, resting her chin upon the stone as she stared at those hypnotic flames, becoming so engrossed that she did not hear the approach of another.