Finally and completely, the beaver gave herself over to the darkness. The tendrils disappeared from her vision, and there was no mystery as to why: she was one of them now. She scurried along, toward the cave. The day’s heat had broken, and she was glad of it. When she breathed, it felt like a peach core was caught inside her throat, scraping up and down. Foam was dripping out of her mouth, leaving a snowy trail behind her if anyone or anything could want to follow. 

            A dog stepped in front of her and barked angrily. It was blocking her path. Her ears perked up. She wasn’t ready to fight, but she was ready to kill. She looked at the dog. She’d be the last thing it ever saw. 

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