Redtail Rise You know you're hungover when you brush your teeth with sunglasses on

The bed of leaves rustled, then Smash exploded from it like a tee shirt launched from a cannon at some sporting event or another. She dove perhaps six feet, then dropped her head and retched on the grass. She made such awful noises that the morning songbirds not only hushed, they took flight in utter disgust. Several heaves later, the morning fell still and quiet again, though now it smelled like hot, fishy puke.

"Holy shoot, never again," the she-wolf mumbled to herself, swiping a dark chocolate foreleg across her muzzle to wipe away any clinging vomit or drool. She backed away from the puddle of sick, then settled back onto her haunches with a deep breath. "Seafood: zero out of ten. But puking—that's a solid ten out of ten from me. I feel like a million bucks!" she announced to no one in particular, her trademark grin finally making its appearance.

She didn't actually feel one hundred percent and Smash was craving water like a thirsty camel to boot. She began to trot away from her makeshift nesting area in search of a puddle or something. Now that she was feeling better, Smash also kept her eyes peeled for a pack mate, particularly one that could point her in the direction of a breath mint.