Abertha doesn’t answer. There’s a rustling and the stink of sour milk fades. I suck down a deep breath. And then I see scuffed boots and the hem of a patchwork skirt. “Oh, you poor thing.” Abertha squats, peering through the thorny branches. “How long have you been in there?” She clucks. I can’t even raise my head to acknowledge her. I’ve collapsed to my side, panting, tongue hanging from the corner of my mouth. “Let’s get you out of there.” She reaches in, yelping when a thorn scratches her forearm. “I’m sorry Una’s little wolf. This isn’t going to be as gentle as I’d like.”
