Whitefish River Oh, I'm a Maid, and I'm Pure and Fair--I'll Never Dance with a Hairy Bear!

Wraen's suspicions about the source of the ghostly cries and bellows were correct. The skull kept screaming at her, even as she managed to push it over and recover a... familiar weaselish face. In fact, the only weasel she knew, who tended to speak a lot and at length, showing utter contempt for people, who were taller, bigger and stronger than her and who could gulp her down in two takes, were they up for it. But talking mustelids weren't easy to find and Wraen could bet that Nynka had survived this far just because anyone, who had considered her as a potential meal, decided not to risk it. It could be that the little, spirited animal would continue kicking and screaming profanities inside stomach, not to mention the pain of upset digestive system and other health problems. And it was more than likely that she would still rise from the grave and continue to haunt the one, who had eaten her as a vengeful spirit.

To sum it up - it was not wise to imagine Nynka as good choice for lunch - and all in all Wraen was quite glad to meet the little critter again. "I have to admit that you had me there for a moment," she greeted the resident ghost of the caverns, sat down, curling her tail around her forepaws. "Good job, really - a skull, a loud voice, ominous speech, the echoes - you have learned the ghost-craft," she praised, because she enjoyed seeing the already conceited creature, inflate even more with pride. It was amusing, not that she would reveal this to anyone. "What happened to the last wolf? Did he suffer a heart-attack and you ate him?" she asked, expecting not to be surprised, in case this assumption turned out to be true.