Whitebark Stream Hate is a fine antidote for fear.

The raven she-wolf settled nearby, haunches lowering her into a seated position. Artyom followed this movement with his eyes only, remaining upright - at least for the time being.

She did not seem particularly comfortable, and he wondered inwardly if it was he who roused such a feeling. It wasn't something he would take personally if his suspicion were true; he did not even know her by name, therefor felt no responsibility for whatever mood she had woken up to.

"Not at all," the ranger answered smoothly, a hint of a smile on his muzzle as he canted a golden lobe. "I suppose i could ask you the same question."