Scout’s POV
"Eat the meat before the grease turns to white sludge."
Claire stood by the heavy oak door with her hands tucked deep inside her apron pockets. Her chin was down. Her shoulders were hunched. She looked like a dog waiting for a boot to drop.
I did not move from the mattress. The wool blanket smelled like mould and stale tallow. My muscles did not just ache. They felt like hot sand poured inside skin. Down in the cells, the sick wolves had bled until the straw rotted under them. My palms were still red from wringing out the vinegar cloths.
"I am not hungry," I said. My throat felt full of dry wool.
"You did not eat at noon," she said. She took two steps toward the bed. Her soft leather boots made no sound on the grit. "The Grand Luna needs you strong. If you faint on the sto
