I remembered Shelby’s face when she asked, “Would you like to see my
scars?”
“From what?” I replied.
“From when I was attacked. From the wolves.”
“No.”
She showed me anyway. Her belly was lumpy with scar tissue that disappeared under her bra. “It looked like hamburger after they bit me.”
I didn’t want to know.
Shelby didn’t pull her shirt back down. “It must be hell when we kill something. We must be the worst way to die.”
