It is an odd thing, a strange feeling to stumble around in a land that is most unfamiliar in every aspect - the terrain, the smells, the other wolves and their packs. None of it brings back a flicker of recognition, though she isn’t sure it should. Was this her home before the accident (or the attack, as she finds herself thinking more often than not), or had she only awoken here after some do-gooder dragged her body to that cave to heal and awaken? Had it been a do-gooder, or perhaps the attacker himself - herself? - leaving her for dead?

She just doesn’t know; it is the uncertainty that eats at her inside and drives her in a mad rush, her paws eating up the ground with hopes that something in the landscape flashing past her will catch her attention and somehow become recognizable. It had been a wasted effort so far with no results, not unless you count the constant pounding in her head, that ever-present aching that had cursed her since the moment of her bleary-eyed return to the living.

The Gods have cursed me, she muses, only half-joking as she pushes through the throbbing pain that continues to radiate from the base of her skull to the space behind her eyes.

She doesn’t know exactly how far she’s come from her starting place, the cave and the wolf that had greeted her. She only knows that she has much farther to go with no sign of recognition, no flood of memories to give her even the slightest hope. What did she know? Not much. There was an accident or an attack. She fell, or maybe she only felt like she was falling. The beast had yellow eyes, demon eyes, but maybe the beast was only a dream. A nightmare, she couldn’t be sure.

Her name is Loup Garou, or maybe it isn’t. It feels right, she thinks it is right.

She doesn’t know. Doesn’t know.

The frustration brings her up short, panting - gasping - for air to fill her burning lungs and in that air she smells him, the other wolf trailing along the course of the river. Her eyes search for him but the darkness is a cloak casting shadows and odd angles so easily hidden in. She inhales again, following the scent until the moon lends a kindness, peaking out from behind a cloud to cast a faint yellow glow over the creatures of the night. Finally she sees him, a black figure glimmering with moonlight where before there had only been darkness.

She should be afraid. She is afraid, but she is also curious - will she recognize him? Will his eyes be yellow and haunting, or some kinder color that doesn’t manifest itself like a nightmare in her mind?

She must know. She must know.

”Hello,” she calls, and there is a quiver to her soft soprano voice, betraying her for weak. Cowardly.