Emberwood apocalypse always chooses the worst time to come.

His brows raise at the tone of her response.  She asks for clarification but barrels on with an explanation before he has time to think.  To say the least, he is ... less than impressed.  The inky black line of his lips flatten, and a simple No, is the only response that it seemed the strange woman would be able to purloin from the shadowed stranger.

He crosses one thin foreleg over another, and his tail swishes behind him like an agitated cat as he surveys her from the peripheral of one toxic yellow eye.  Far from here.  A mountain's edge, on the cusp of the ocean.