The sudden smell of angels in front of her stops the running. Brigid drops into a defensive crouch and growls. Her claws are out, the shift is complete. She's sunken into the wolf, allowing the full moon to draw it out more fully than it has in years.

Without the steadying influence of an Alpha, the wolf reels at the smell of a stronger predator. There's no game to protect, no hunt to covet.

She roars, and then turns to run.