Silvertip Mountain Headed towards a fucked up holiday

Prialux tucked against her own ermine frame and Kitsch almost purred in her contentment. Sure, Kitsch had just witnessed the abasement of an innocent not much younger than herself [which usually left her feeling quite sour], but this felt good; and it had been so long since she last felt something good. “Of course,” the pearl murmured. She could turn away a wolf in need no more than a bird could forsake its annual migration — it was instinctive and inscribed upon her genetic makeup. For what reason would she suffer politics and prominence if not for an overwhelming dedication to those less fortunate? 

Soon Kitsch would bring Prialux back to the pack [situated not far off], but the here and now was something Kitsch was not ready to let go of.