I have lots of questions for the wolves, but every step I take is so much agony, its hard to focus on anything else. I bite my lip bloody to keep from crying out, but sometimes I can’t help but wince, and stumble when I step on something sharp. Every time I falter or hiss with pain, I feel the brush of fingers against my back to steady me, I hear the brown-haired wolf, no Slade, suck in a breath between his teeth. But still, despite the sweat that coats my brow, and the tremble of my body, I pull myself up straighter and continue down the path we make through the soggy ground and dark waters.River carries CeCe up ahead, naming the things we see around, the types of trees, wildflowers, the creatures we encounter in the underbrush both big and small. He knows a lot about the swamp. He plucks a salamander from the mud to give us both a better look and encourages us to feel its smooth skin. CeCe does so, but I shake my head, as I know this isn’t a picnic in the woods. I ache in so many p
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