Wapun Meadow the color of blood in the violent setting of a dying sun

As the man looks up, she notices the wounds across his muzzle and the drowsy way he moves; an easier target than he might usually be, perhaps. But she isn't in the mood for that right now. No, She answers when he questions her, surprised by how lonely she feels when she says it. I'm just sort of... staying here right now. My home used to be the pack that way — She gestures toward Easthollow. But... I'm not on good terms with my family anymore. I don't know why I'm hanging around here, or why I'm telling you all of this. Her ears flush with sudden self-consciousness, but her rambling does not stop immediately; rather, it falters and stumbles to a halt. It's been awhile since I've talked to anyone — I guess I'm lonely. Um. Do you... need any help with those cuts?
By the end of it she's burning with shame, and reminded that no matter how hard she works to turn herself into nothing but a hardened killer, she will always be her awkward self at heart. Maybe she should just kill him after all, if only to leave no witnesses to this mess.