Otter Creek Don't really care what they would say, I'm asking you to stay

Stark watched the wolf’s retreat with a faint curl of disdain tugging at his lips, his single eye narrowing as Panacea turned to leave. “Therapy,” he echoed flatly, his voice cutting through the air like the snap of a whip. “The modern cure for spinelessness, no doubt.”

He stood then, his hulking frame casting a shadow across the creek bed as he stepped closer to the edge of his perch. “Run back to your masters, little courier,” Stark called after him, a faint snarl upon the lip. He didn't take kindly to being dismissed.

The wind rustled through his thick fur, carrying with it the faint scent of the mountains far beyond. His gaze lingered on the stranger for a moment longer, dismissive but sharp, before he reclined back onto the sun-warmed boulder.

“Therapy,” he muttered to himself, his voice dripping with quiet mockery. “What absurdity.” Shaking his head, Stark settled back down. He paused, only to raise his head once more, eyes swiping across the surroundings of the creek.

Where had that girl run off to?