Broken Antler Fen there's no place like home

"Mm-hmm." Skwol affirmed with a single nod.

He did not know the thing as a rope. He knew it only as one of the devil's artifacts — one that his teeth could damage. Unlike some of the others which he had tried his fangs on. The white wolf had seen rope in several places, but the first time he watched it hurled around the neck of a lumbering, horned beast, thrown from a devil sitting on the back of another strange, hoofed animal. He knew then it was trouble: that beast, snorting in protest, was dragged away.

"Stay still," he bade her as he moved closer. She was keen to have it gone and that seemed to encourage her to trust him further, but he monitored her from the corner of his eye and took care to not move too fast. He sniffed at the rope, his breath rustling the soft furs on the side of her neck. He hated to be near it, but without the devil's paw to grip it there was no trickery to it; it was as hostile as a dead snake.

Skwol pressed in and slipped his fangs over the coil. He tugged at it and paused, giving the girl a chance to understand what he intended to do and himself a moment to ensure that she would let him do it.