Sunbeam Lair the wheezing cough of a smoker’s laugh

The approach was noted with a clinical, unemotional eye, but the chuff was what made her move. Curling in on herself, twisting to face the man who chuffed with the barest flash of a pale fang.

It wasn’t that she had completely forgotten how to be around others, but the dark had warped it, had turned her into the barest hint of a creature. And as her eyes found the second dark shape, it only solidified her mind that these two wolves were pest control, and she the unfortunate roach.

She skittered back a step, pressing her shoulder to a rock face, doing everything short of hissing like a snake. Her ears twisted and flattened back. This wasn’t the Gang, she knew all of those faces. This was someone else, someone new. Lonesome had come to not enjoy somethings or someones new. Were these the “crick wolves” Colt and Sadey spoke of? Neither of these two were red, so neither of them was Red (though, she noted, Red had also been described as “the girl” and these men were neither feminine, nor young enough to be called girl. Scratch that off the list). And neither of them were Reno or Marston.

Strangers. She didn’t like strangers.