Larksong Grotto avec vous

there is a voice and the smell of meat. coraline bristles indignantly, eyes of wary seaglass scanning the vast expanse until she lands upon a large woman. wolf? unwolf? not-wolf, not-not-wolf. she cannot quite tell what she is looking at.
'sup? she repeats, the uncertainty wavering as she looks now at the prey placed coolly at the strange vagabond's feet. you mean to ask me how i be, mon cheri?