The golden fae moved almost as fast as a bullet. With her speed, she might as well be a bullet. Her shaggy, silky golden pelt flew behind her as she ran, even with her horribly wounded leg. Wind pushed against her face, telling her to go back to the Shaman's den. To be healed. But Ondine would do no such thing. Not just because she was stubborn, but because he was there. Although disappointment would be the word that properly fit her situation, but so was rejection. Pearly canines glinted under the falling sun, as she skid to a stop in the snow, raising her head. Mentally, she let out a long, sorrow filled howl, before continuing her run; It