Wapun Meadow buried beneath ketchup packets

Ravioli narrows her eyes at the late apology, one ear flicking on her head. Good, she decides. She straightens up a little bit but then gawks when she is mistaken for some smelly water dog. “I am not an otter,” she scoffs, waving one hand in front of her face and drops it, presenting herself Vanna White style. “I’m a raccoon.”
 
She takes another moment to shake the snow off but she side-eyes the wolf, unable to let her eyes trail too far should the other decide to eat her and sudden movements aren’t going to be in her favor here, even if she is nice. “What’s your name? Can you help me?” she decides, loosening up a bit with a little, subtle shimmy of her shoulders.