Firefly Ravine you are wicked, and you are cruel

The giant rat thing jumped forward, all long fur and sharpened teeth snarling something about his meals. Drogon’s head drew back in an incredulous manner, perplexed until a introduction followed — Hawthorne the wolverine (did that mean he was an ancestor of the wolf? But he was so …ugly!). Alongside the introduction came the declaration that all the toads and frogs were Hawthrone’s to eat and he wasn’t about to hear any objection from the soturi. “I don’t want your amphibians, trust me.” Muzzle wrinkled in disgust at the thought of eating one of them. He supposed if he was starving he would not have the luxury of being so picky but as it was Drogon wasn’t starving and he took the luxury as he pleased. Venison, fox, rabbit. Moose even, if the hunt was good and there was enough wolves working to bring it down. But never frogs or toads. Drogon's ears swivel atop his skull, one to the side and one forward facing Hawthorne even though his glacial gaze refuses to leave the strange beast before him. “Why are your kind called wolverines? You don’t look like wolves.” Drogon points out, entirely omitting the giving of his own name in return.