zharille continued chewing long after the last loop of steaming entrail had slid down her throat. blood painted her muzzle in thick, darkening streaks, freezing in the cold night air where it met her fur. she licked her chops once, slow and deliberate, tongue dragging heavily across her teeth as if the simple act required great effort. she turned benji's words over in her skull with the sluggish patience of cold molasses, thick and unwilling to move.

zharille’s broad head tilted a fraction, amber eyes narrowing with the heavy effort of thought. her jaws worked once more around nothing, grinding imaginary gristle as she stared at the chunk of hare that had been tossed toward her. she made no move to take it yet. instead she stood there, massive and unmoving, blood dripping steadily from her chin onto the frost in slow, rhythmic plops.

this place… these cold highlands… this strange, grinning wolf…

none of it fit.

the mountain was still behind her. castle rock was still hers. the matriarch’s blood was still warm on her tongue only hours ago. the land had simply… changed its coat for the night. that was all. the pines would return with the dawn. the stone corridors would echo again beneath her paws. she was not lost. she was not displaced. the thought slid through her mind like thick syrup, stubborn and comforting in its slowness. denial wrapped around her thoughts like heavy winter fat, refusing to let anything sharper pierce through.

zharille finally lowered her great head and dragged the tossed remnant of hare closer with one heavy paw. she did not speak for a long time. when the words did come, they rolled out low and rough, dragged through the molasses in her skull with obvious effort.

this is my land. the statement was blunt, pig-headed, spoken with the same slow certainty of an ogre who had already decided what was true. her ears flicked once, heavily. another thick drop of blood fell from her muzzle onto the snow.

you speak… strange things, ben-ji.

she chewed the new piece of meat with the same ugly, open-mouthed slowness, eyes half-lidded and distant as her brain worked through the confusion at its own glacial pace. the mountain was still there. it had to be. mountains did not rise at night and march away in the manner of a living thing.

right?