Razorback Ridge SCP-087

Until today she hadn't known wolves were capable of making such a noise. He purrs and ticks like a machine, a machine that prints out miles and miles of ticker tape. Metallic malevolence made up of clean chevrons that fit seamlessly into each other.

Her voice is closed-off and distant. Through her teeth, I'm aimin to leave. I aint done nothin.

Alarm bells ring dim in her skull. Slow panic building up in her chest and throat like cotton. Her spadeshaped head shies like a horse in charged thunderstorm air. The iron blue dark around her and the sky sprent with stars offers no solace. Yet still her face shines tense and pale.