She is simply overcome with everything when she begins all her rambling about her mother. Truly she loved her despite knowing, deep, deep, deep down that the female had not been a real mother. Not in the way that she should have been. She had been a caretaker and a mix of a prisoner warden. She had both starved and fed Fjallraven, maimed and cared for her, kept her alive and kept her stupid. As the time passed and the memory of her mother began to edge into the fuzzy side of her memories, the forefront taken up with more recent memories of Reich, Jericho, Magnus, and all the others that had come into her life, she had slowly begun to realize - in a disbelieving way - that she had been crippled since birth. Not physically but in her nurturing.

Yet it has all been ingrained into her so when he speaks of her mother as a bitch, despite the pain, despite the fragments of her mind, she gasps. "No, she wasn't!" She defends fervently before slumping forward onto his own body. And even though he wants to leave he stays with her, huffing in his usual gruff manner, and she exudes the last of her breath in relief. "I don't want to die," she whispers softly to him, her gold eyes brimming as she stares at him. Then he goes on to howl and she cringes down into herself, her eyelids starting to close as the weariness and pain becomes too much to bear.

Voices draw her attention and she peeks out from beneath her eyelids to spy the light colored wolf checking him over in a hurry. Was Magnus hurt? She wants to ask him because she thought he was alright. "Rabies.." She murmurs to herself, suddenly worried that that female HAD rabies and had infected her. She would die mutilating those around her (so she thinks, however, she is but a skeleton). Then another female appears, crowding around Magnus, and her feeble heart stops for a moment. That girl wasn't going to hurt him was she?

The low growl and the harsh words make her flinch back into herself; she hadn't the energy to fret about the safety of her imprint. Not while her own blood still drizzled, slow and sluggishly, out of the flesh that gaped wide on her shoulder or the puncture wounds around her tail.