“We aren’t really a traditional pack,” Trisha says, putting the little bedtable on my lap. “As you might already know. We don’t do things according to the norm.”
She places a steaming bowl of meaty soup on the tray after making sure that the bedtable does not wobble. The smell wafts at me, and I feel a little hungry. Not much, because my stomach still hurts and that affects my appetite. But I can feel myself healing, needing more strength to get back to life.
I could not stay the same about my mind. I felt empty inside, purposeless, a huge void sapping everything out of me. The feeling of being a failure was prominent in my mind, I feel like I’ve lost half of myself.
Miscarriage. After all the running, hiding, sleeping under the sky as a wolf, and trying my best to eat even raw meat I’d
