Firefly Ravine i don’t tolerate defeat

In nearly comical contrast to the veteran she was presently approaching, Pipit found it difficult to identify any repugnance she might have felt towards nature and some of its more loathsome creations. True to the wiles of a chipper optimist, hatred was an almost nonexistent emotion for her, overridden consistently by a natural and deep-seeded appreciation for all things she could explore with all her senses. Even the old woman was quite admirable to her— she almost could not wait to be so old herself, not knowing the true tribulations of such an age— except her solitude worried the gentle Redleaf, and she cautiously lifted her nose to search for the smell of disease over the scent of cold salt and sand, before venturing any closer.

There was nothing abnormal on the air, nothing except the dried blood of the dead rabbit, which made her stomach turn in an unhelpful reminder that she should find herself something to eat before nightfall. Her tail wagged quickly, when she had at last come close enough to be noticed, and she hung back respectfully, not wanting to give off any impression that she was any sort of trouble. The small she-wolf ducked her head, and offered a testing and sweet: "hello." A child dipping her toe into cold water.