The wolf was stretched out on the table, her rear right leg was shaved, clearly showing the telltale injuries that had been caused by a peppering of shotgun pellets.
The woman — according to her passport her name was Riordan, but it wasn't the name she was born with, just the latest in a long line of identities — gently cleaned the wounds and bound the leg. Then she carefully carried the wolf and placed her beside the fire before administering the antidote to the anaesthetic.
As the wolf started to come around, she ran her fingers through the thick neck fur, calming the animal with her presence. The wolf relaxed, repositioning herself to lay her head in the woman's lap.
It had been years since anybody from the nearby town had taken pot shots at one of her wolves. The last idiot had been hospitalised for his troubles. As she eyed the cricket bat beside the cabin's door, she could foresee a similar future for the silly bastard who thought shooting wolves was entertaining.
The wolf nudged the woman's leg and was given a handful of kibble and a parting pat.
Getting to her feet, the woman picked up the bat. "There's water by the door and more kibble if you want it. I'll let the rest of the pack know you'll be feeling more yourself in the morning." She let herself out into the cool mountain air.
Striding across the clearing at a determined pace, bat over her shoulder, she chatted in a quiet voice to the wolves, who nuzzled her hand in concern for their missing pack mate. It was a decent trek through the dense scrub that surrounded the cabin, but it would give her time enough to contemplate the pain she was about to inflict on a very stupid human.
30minutemuse — challenge #1: the visitor
Part of the Wolf&Declán!verse