Barrow Fields just one moment of peace, that would suit me so fine

Capriccio's demeanor turned on a dime and Lusca's heart sank as the loner threatened an extinction event of their deal. What kinda fresh bolshevik! The menace of the coast was all too real for the kettleblack she-wolf, so to rescind their prearrangement was, to her, nothing short of dirty politics. Her trust issues kindled hotly and the loner pledged, in the solitude of her own thoughts, to stop trading services with strangers going forward. 

"That's not fair!" she shrieked, flailing into a bow and tossing back her head with a yip. The feel the indian rug-burn of her own naivety (a repeat offender) was massively unpleasant for her and the underdeveloped vertebrae of a grudge was cradled gingerly in her arms. 

Lusca threw herself to the ground with a flourish––and figuring she was out one rabbit anyway, an innocently solemn quality welled her voice. She draped a foreleg over her snout and hefted a dramatic sigh. "Another day of dry pinecones and sprigs for my babes, if they're lucky."