Bearclaw Valley Says he’s broke

The ashen female asks if she knows him. She would begin to reply before the shewolf raises her howl to the sky. 

“For a short moment, yes.” Comes her reply with a lazy shrug. 

Soon enough, the request for the coy-wolf’s present sings through the air. Pandora doesn’t know how long it takes for him to arrive — could’ve been seconds or minutes. Eventually, she sees the glimmer of a single, fiery eye in the darkness. What soon follows is a tattered man with a pelt of rusty red and deep browns and blacks. 

Her eyes follow him as he appear and says her name in that deep rasp of his. 

So he remembers.

But despite the fleeting familiarity, Pandora senses that he might not be in a playful mood. She doesn’t really know much about him either. So the idea of being careful might just be beneficial. Especially considering the wounds he sports.

So he offers him one of her usual smiles. “I’ve found myself in need of a home, great Merrick. Perhaps I could offer my toxicology skills for you in exchange.” Just the mere idea of it brings joy to hear cold heart — the idea of poisoning others that is.