The soft winter breeze swirled through her fur, tickling her. The scent was subtle, floral, and conveyed an irreplaceable peace. The five of them walked without saying a word. What was there to say? Fizkwik did not regret her decision. She no longer wanted to fight, and was therefore unfit to be a matriarch. Maybe she would see them again some day. Or maybe not. With her were Handless, who had barely survived the orc poison, her mate, Ewik, and another unnamed female cub.
"Mother, look," he pointed to a small village on a hill.
"There must be food," Handless chuckled.
"There could be humans," Fizkwik explained suspiciously.
"The rebel trolls killed them all, remember? I'm starving. I haven't eaten since the orcs attacked us."