[/html]It was not Rosie’s place to be a warrior. She was too fine boned, too easily broken. Her body was the weakness her heart had once been. Yet where darkness might have grown to consume her she instead rejected the sorrow and embraced life. Fatalistic as she was, each day was new and each day brought something different with it. She would live to see the sun rise, and she would do so on her own terms. It did not matter if she was only able to run when the time came for fighting, because she was by far the fastest thing amongst her packmates. At least, she suspected this—she had never truly pushed herself around them and only knew what other wolves were like.
“Oui,” Rosie agreed, and her tail wagged behind her. “Zat ees my favorite part of all. I have not seen spring here, so zees will be my first as well.” It would not be France, where the fields filled with wildflowers and the promises of boys were broken so easily. She frowned slightly at the thought, dismissed it, and shook her head lightly. “Vee should walk before eet gets too dark. Zees leetle ones should sleep, no?”
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