Firefly Glen made it out alive, but I think I lost it

Gjalla eyed the elk haunch with muted interest, her gaze flicking to the black and golden she-wolf. The lisp, soft and almost melodic, grated in her ears, and she resisted the urge to narrow her eyes. Practicality first; her tolerance could come later. There was time, yet, for the woman to earn her ire.

Gjalla narrowed her eyes, skimmed over the woman’s form appraising her like a potential threat before letting them slide to the meat at her paws. The chunk of elk dangling in her jaws, the glint of that hauntingly blue gaze, the barest hint of a smile tugging at her maw.

The warm scent of blood taunts her, makes her salivate while her stomach snarls. "Convenient, is it?" she murmured, voice low as her gaze swept over the meat and then the woman. Fortunate, perhaps, but best was generous. "No more convenient the meal you hold." To her, at least. Though Gjalla was no diplomat—not anymore—she wasn't above persuading the girl to share.