Heron Lake Plateau it's easier than just waiting around to die

Dirt and splinters of soft, pliable tree rimed the corners of Raleska's mouth as she ripped her head back and forth in a frenzy - this tree would go down, and she would see to it that she was the one that ruined it. So intense was her determination that she didn't see the boy until he spoke: with a startle like a spooked cat, Raleska's fur rose like black flame along her back, and she set her lamplight eyes upon him in accusation.

He had startled her, but she realized it was that other puppy that she hadn't seen much of. Maybe it was intentional their parents kept them apart, or maybe it was because the sullen Eyjolfur girl was bad news and a puppy like Owen ought to have the good sense to know it - she was about to give the inquisitive packmate a tongue-lashing of her own cultivation when she caught that faint hint of awe in his eyes.

She wouldn't have been her mother's child if that didn't just stroke her self-importance to an outrageous degree. She stood upright with the sapling still in her mouth, and regarded Owen with the most severe expression she could muster: as if she were a battle worn general ready to impart her knowledge (all obtained at a terrible cost, of course) to the lowly private.

That stern lecture never came, because a black ball of fur suddenly tore down the incline and swung right towards them - instinctively Raleska sprung back and let go of the sapling, which had been under considerable tension a moment before. She could only watch in shock (and a faint, sickly glee) as the sapling's spine suddenly righted with a snap, its long arm careening towards Tywyll...