The Heartwood rattler

asmodeus had expected an answer in her usual blatant way, but belharra delivered a tea that all bur burned the snake as he listened. 

first, a villlain to set the tone of belharra's yarn. a large wolf who sauntered and took what she wanted. he had little tolerance for such types, and so blinked his black eyes once. "what a bitch," he muttered resolutely as his traveling companion went on. enter a delicate maid threatened by our aforementioned villain, and then belharra arriving to right the wrong.

thoroughly amused, asmodeus was niched into the role of attentive boy-thing and played along happily, his attention fully given over. a lie, and then roi mal, the joke of which he did not understand, coming about to play pussyhound, effectively pitting his packmate against two strangers on behalf of the second. 

at the doctoral prognosis, asmodeus' wintry features lit with a silent, baleful grin. a savage with a stethoscope. belharra's bedside manner was perfect as far as he was concerned, for the glorified fuck-boy of this tale deserved nothing better. 

"he can suck a dick," the reptile growled, annoyed on her behalf. "let's go see the salt, but we can come back to mess with the little twerp if you want." paws began to pace in that direction. "fuck numbers, huh? if you don't like math we can't be friends," asmodeus announced with a rueful sigh trembling theatrically in his throat.

it was then that belharra revoked his speaking privileges, and thereafter he traveled with her in mocking silence. soon the game was surrendered; he found his tongue to suggest a salacious notion, and streaked away as the bard came after him. 

and so they remained.