Honeyed Pasture the pulling of teeth

keeps it weird and vague yeah

A howl cut through the bitter chill of the air and she cupped her ears forward to listen. A summons; an invitation, rather, to feast. The churlish she-wolf hastened towards the familiar call, stomach wrung into twisting, painful knots. Unaware of the toll the journey from Themiscrya had taken on her body, she had to slow in the last half-mile or so as to not to appear so haggard. Her paws connected soundly with the snowy loam as she approached the figures; one the welcoming vision of the Siren, Meteora, and the other an unfamiliar colt of a boy, though the scent of the Nereides was light upon his coat.

She bared her teeth at him but did little else to express the disdain she felt at his presence here, for her attention was then fixed upon Meteora. "We're too close," and it is making me nervous, she finished silently. Her eyes drifted to the frostbitten remains, and she lashed her tongue across her lips, salivating.