Bearclaw Valley Sevenfold

Had it not been for the framing of their first encounter, Orson might have continued chattering off, for the pure sake of annoying the hell out of this close-mouthed wolf. She was a bit of a gadfly at times. But the phantom taste of pork in her mouth shut it.

She slipped after him, keeping her nose low to the ferns. Pigs were nasty, intelligent things. She drifted away from him, widening their berth. Their hunting net, if you would.