Sleeping Dragon If you trust your rebel heart, ride it into battle

Wildfire liked to think she had a good sense of humor and that her parents had gifted her with an appreciation for even the crassest jokes. But she shivered inwardly at Rosalyn's explanation for her nickname. It made her think of Goober, however briefly. In any case, the woman's story quickly moved on and Wildfire forgot all about Goober when a familiar name popped up in it: Vlad. Her amber eyes widened ever so slightly. Today really was a blast from the past.

The intrigue and drama of Rosalyn's tale was not lost on her. "That sounds like quite an adventure," she commented, smiling at her own anticlimactic response. "I met Vlad once. He has a crazy accent, right?" She paused to let the other she-wolf answer, then asked, "What happened to him? He isn't here, is he?" The yearling felt terrible but she sort of hoped he wasn't. He was a bit too weird for her.

Meanwhile, the porcupine gave a sudden squeak, then a long sigh and deflated. "Ah, dinner's up," the Bandrona observed with a wolfish grin and a lash of her black tail. She stepped closer to the dead animal, sniffing warily from a few inches away. She wanted to be absolutely sure it was dead before she put her face anywhere near that bushel of quills.