Deepwood Weald penny for my thoughts, I deserve a dime

the other woman seemed displeased with her words. yet it didn't take a genius to see that. the jaw tightened as if biting back a snapping reply. Huntington merely stared at her. she had done nothing - albeit her own information was useless - but reply to her question. she had, in essence, worked with what she had been given. no name, no details... ninety percent of the wolf population was grey. even her base coat was such the hue. her dead eyes seemed to bulge a bit as if not widening but merely interest had been piqued. somewhat.

my brother came the reply, still, no name had been given. the woman walked forward, continuing. the skull-mask bobbed a bit as she turned, her hips swaying in tune to her steps as she walked after the other. she was dreadfully bored, so why not give the woman the time of day? there was no harm. she had not met the other for a long period of time, unaware that this brother had been met by her and treated as well, and could not recall the scent anyway. "then, is he injured?" she asked bluntly. trouble could mean anything.

or was he merely just a lost soul? her mind drifted to the scene she had happened upon earlier; blood spilled upon the earth and the smell of many panicking wolves. yet she could not remember where the exact location was now.