Grouse Thicket An Irishman walks out of the bar

"Oh, well, that's not the most obvious problem, is it?" Apple kept yanking the other wolf's chain just to see, how far could she go with her banter. You had to forgive the old crone, but it had been a while she had had a company. And now that she had it - one that was probably the least fit for her verbal outbursts - she was determined to use it's whole potential. 

"I may be right, assuming that you are way past regurgitated cuisine?" she asked, half-seriously, because her only stash of food was inside her stomach at the moment. Apple had many talents and one of them was the ability to throw up her food at will. After fourteen kids, she believed that her stomach lining had grown an extra layer of muscle and was just as tough and strong as one of the body-builder's. No tanning cream though.

"I could get you something, if you sat here and waited for me, but you have to tell me first, what is there for me, if I feed you?" she asked in a business-like manner. The message was clear: Apple was not going to do something just out of goodness of her heart. A favor for a favor.