Bearclaw Valley la bien qui fait mal

her muzzle crinkled at the odor the bolus instilled. if there was any appetite roiling in her gut, it was certainly stilled now.

she met his gaze at the mention of fish; somehow, pairing the two hardly seemed like cuisine delicacy, but if there was anything astara could stomach washing down her gullet, it was the crisp and salty taste of meat.

appeased, she rolled the bolus between her paws and gave it a gentle nibble. it would certainly be better served washed down with pike or rivertrout.