Porcupine Ridge i'm here to pick up a fossil.

Natasha gave a small chuckle, tail flicking. "I doubt you're doing any pushing on that shoulder," she says, taking a seat where she stood. "Doesn't seem broken," she says from a bit away. She was by no means a seasoned healer, but broken bones tended to cause a little more pain that gritted teeth. 

"You got a name, Red?" she asks, a tiny hint of an implication hidden beneath her. Give some info, get some help— she seemed at least a little willing. She couldn't truly make fun of anyone for having such a November color-scheme, her own coat sporting everything from pumpkin-oranges to apple-reds... but a nickname never hurt anyone.