<div class="floatright">(http://www.flicksandbits.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/centurion-olga.jpg)</div><br/>Sorcha had been aware of a voice it was the same one that had mingled with the voice of her mate, it was grass eyes, was he hidden under the snow, did he understand for she did not. There was death here and it clouded everything. There was death here and there would be more, just as there would be in her land. Even as he lifted her she spoke of blood, fresh blood, she could smell it.<em> Fresh blood on a stone floor.</em>But of course he did not understand, and she was still in the half world though it was fading.<em> Marks...she had her marks...why did she or nay need more?</em>She did not understand.<br/><br/>The pict was beginning to feel ill, not so much from the drugs but from all that she had seen. Her head was now partially in this world but her body could not move yet and the man with the voice of smooth fur, her grass eyes and another were throwing her away into a dark place that smelled of boars. A dark place where she could not take a breath, the heat was terrible but being shut up like some animal was more horrible than Sorcha could imagine.<br/><br/>The pict was a wild thing she ran and howled, she knew the land and the animals, she bore babes for her mate. Slowly her consciousness returned, as did reality, and in the last vestiges of her drug induced state Sorcha let out what sounded like a long slow howl…if no one else did the dogs heard it.  It was a strangely melodic sound lonely as one that calls over the ocean.