Overture Downs returning home

trudging through the snow with the single-minded drive of a semi, gun certainly didn't smell killer; her current perfume was a charming blend of wet dog and minty ice, and the wind had found itself with better things to do than disperse it.

the yelp perked her ears. gun stopped, then squinted out over the blinding expanse of white.

there. something canine-lookin', colored like a killer whale. small - but, her sense for size was long fucked blind.

gun went on. standing still left time for the chill to creep in. warmth was needed, and as she woofed a baritone bark toward lil whale, she guessed how to get it.