Hoshor Plains a feeling that consumes

Fin? Unless Devil follows her, of course.

She tried so very hard to imagine that it was not him. Instead, she gritted her teeth and attempted to visualize not a filthy coyote creature, but one of the Dotharan atop her. That, at least, helped a little bit, even if the thick stench of him was anything but wolf. She grunted when he finally removed himself, and then she immediately began to clean every inch of herself. The smell of him would linger, she had no doubt, and she would have to make haste to the river to wash the worst of the stink away.

Knowing that she only had so much time, Tomahawk stood, shook her coat, glanced briefly to her sperm donor, and then left. No "goodbye," no "thanks," and certainly no "see you around." Tomahawk wanted this to be the last she ever saw him.