Fox's Glade have thrice disturbed the quiet of our streets

They were both pathetic; Sif saw this, somewhere in the back of her mind. They were two young, thin women, waiting in the woods outside a pack where there lived a man that has offered them something better - and has yet to provide it. But she had nothing else, and Sif knew that to give up hope now would be more effort than she had left.

So she laid on her belly across from Hella and scooted - tentatively - so that their forlegs laid parallel. And slowly, she inclinced her head, ears flicking back to show that Hella was still the boss, that she could tell Sif to back off or go away or do anything, and she would listen. But for the time being, Sif began to gently bathe the woman's bloody forelegs with her warm tongue, tail sweeping the ground behind her as she grew accustomed to - and then, quickly, enamored by - this intimacy she shared with the pale girl across from her.

When she was done, she lifted her head, and on a whim, gave Hella's cheek an awkward nuzzle. "Alt bedre," she said. "All better."