Firestone Hot Springs you put egg on my house, i kill what you love.

"Ow, okay," Wraen leaned over to see, how bad the cut was, but since she was no healer and therefore was not going to do anything about it and therefore such curiousity would be simply rude, she turned her gaze away and lifted one of her forepaws to rub her muzzle. 

"Does it hurt?" she asked, since it would totally impolite not to show any interest. "Because if you need a healer's help at any point - we can ask the neighbouring packs around. I have made few acquaintances here," she suggested. "But that's your call. Now, let me think about that poem..."

"Of all the Blackthorns that roam the lands,

Penn of Finwood is an exceptional kind.
Nothing he fears and no danger's too great,
You'll be amazed by his feats, sit down and just wait!

He's walking through forest the other day,
When a deer charges him without so much as "hey!"
And what happened next - I am not gonna brag,
But he turned that stag into a heap of rags."

"So, do you have any other adventurous stuff to add to your poem?" Wraen asked, tilting her head to the side.