Mama-Wound didn’t like her sneaking off. She couldn’t help it though. Her tastes ran wilder and more savage than any of them could have known. The child wasn’t deliberately cruel but sometimes her instinct tended more to that than kindness. Unless Mama-Wound was around. Then she was all smiles and little foal-snuggles. 

Still for all those sweet savory morning moments together, Sawtooth had a wild streak in her that was more than a mile long. She spat in the face of snow flurries and sea spray from escarpments of rock high above the Tephran sea and let the wind comb fingers through the feathers of wings being primed for flight. The child knew these things caused more than their share of fright in mama’s heart but she would always run back for a quick reassuring nuzzle. Then she was off again!

Sawtooth ran amuck amidst the sulfur and ash. She carried a bone in her teeth. For once it was not one of her mother’s bones - her original mother since Wound was as much a mother to her as the late Femur had been. But a bone from some small creature that she’d eaten in wolf shape. Which was the shape she wore now - black fur and a stiffened tail resulting from a proud wolfy swagger.

She finds a volcanic vent that spews and sputters in little fitful gouts of ash and smoke. Her teeth worry the bone as she lays there, black eyes cutting through the murk in hopes of spotting Wound or maybe someone else.