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

She stepped forward, tracing her tongue over her muzzle in thought. The glen offered prospects, something she hadn’t come by in a long time—places to scout, people to avoid, and just maybe, a few souls worth keeping around. There was potential in such a network; that much was true. She wasn’t one for charity or for blind loyalty, not after what she'd lived and seen. A pack could wait. For now, she’d take what she could, be it food or anything else useful.

A welcoming attitude— though a stranger willing to trade, to barter—seemed more a trap than a kindness. She’d seen generosity turn tooth and claw enough times not to trust its smell—old habits die hard, after all. "And what of you?" she allowed, almost grudgingly. "For trade, I mean." A pointed glance to the elk's limb was telling; Gjalla did not have much, but the princess had always been fond of elk.