Bearclaw Valley well me, i like plastics, and digital foils

astara slept, a dark inkblot coiled round the pale remains of her mother.

a nudge woke her up with a start -- she flew to her feet like a cat doused in icy water, eyes aflame and a snarl rippling from her muzzle. slumber fled from her berserk gaze, which now landed vehemently on her night-time assailant -- only to realize the wolf that had touched her was no enemy.

an irritated ripple went down her spine, her hackles flaring and expression cold. she did not see the package he brought, she only saw his presence. what did he want -- and why had he woken her?