Twisted Slough An isle of flightless birds

erzulie glanced beyond him toward the birds, gathering herself to her small paws. "i would not be against helping you, redhawk or blackthorn." she was not sure where the plateau was, nor if she wished to know, but the boy before her was a kind sort, a good example of a pleasant child. "i be erzulie," the harlot offered, tail flagging at her heels.
"dey do smell," she agreed, smirking at the young wolf, "but dey might be good eating all de same." there was but one way to discover such things. she had noticed his use of the word 'heck,' and was amused by it, but saw no reason to comment, not with a task at hand. "you seem more skilled den me. how should we chase dese birds to'gedah?" her mismatched gaze drifted between their feathered quarries and the boy; erzilie found herself intrigued by both.