Firestone Hot Springs epigram for wall street

sick as she is, she isn't yet deaf. pawsteps behind her bring her ears swiveling, casting backward to catch the sound of an approaching wolf.

not deaf, but her sense of smell is dulled.

she turns quickly to see Redd among the steam, slipping among the pools, her tan and red pelt cutting a striking appearance against the drab landscape of winter.

Avicus licks her lips briefly and gives a brusque nod to her daughter.

we needh'a hunhh', she says, and the words are ugly and snarled in the thickness of her throat. she coughs, and grits her teeth. warm here. prey aroundh'. maybe unner'groundh.

she thinks small creatures must relish the cozy nature of the hot springs, despite their malodorous steam.