Cricket Creek Bog If you could fly then you’d feel south

"She didn't talk much" Wren replies, recalling the woman "but she was dark, smokey gray. Silver eyes." Apart from a curt exchange that wasn't very hostile, she considered the matter closed. If she was going to hang around Kingslend, she had to put up with the Saints. As far as she was concerned, they hadn't done any harm to her or anyone she cared about. She therefore didn't give a shit what they did.

He mentioned fun, though. She could only imagine what he meant. "I'm sure I would" she zips back, huffing "but have you seen Kingslend wolves? All business. Kinda stuffy. It seems unfair to deny them my brand of fun" Of course, Wren was just kidding. It was a lighthearted exchange, with no threat to any pack or wolf in particular. "but if I get bored with them, I'll seek you out." She knew nothing about the Saints though. If she did, she knew she'd be a terrible fit.

"Hunting" Wren replies. She doesn't doubt he has the skill to back up any sparring request, but she'd still tired from travel. And probably leagues below him in talent. The woman didn't want to be on the receiving end of fangs until she was properly rested. "not as fun as fighting, but someone has to do it. Might as well be me."