far from perfect

"Of course not," he hums, swishing his tail a couple times to soothe her distrust, however brief it was. "This way," he said, after she gathered the water hemlock, leading her further down shore before stepping away from the stream bank a bit and into a more wooded area. It would be some time before she, or some other wolf, consumed and realized the effects of the hemlock, and so he pointed her in the direction of some poison oak. "These are good for fly bites." Whether she rolled in it or collected it, the reaction would be more immediate.