The Floodlands Jackpot

He's eager for her to stick around. Gives his name, a general location for his home - south, mountains. Immediately Mag remembers what the brat had said. There being one pack in the area.

Tch. You live with the angry ankle-biter, Mag makes mention of this as she stands up, shakes her shoulder furs and down to her tail, trying to diffuse tension only she is experiencing. The kid had been a giant (and a giant pain in the keester).

I dunno about a deal. What if I come callin' and someone takes offense? Naw, that won't do. She's checking the trees at his flank with a shift of her eye, wary now. But here's a counter offer: I'll keep far from there. You pick a place and call for Magda - that's me - and if'n I don't show by the next nightfall, you'll know I've skeedaddled.

She did want to stay. Learning with another person always went smoother. Plus, they'd had a good time so far - that was rare, except in cases of true trades and tithes, which Mag was pleased to have escaped from. Though this boy wasn't so hard on the eyes; he could've convinced her of a sweeter trade if he wasn't so bashful by nature.

She watched him a moment and then the garlic, tipping one bundle in to a roll that would send it spiraling close to him.

What say 'ew to that?