Greatwater Lake a sedge of cranes

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Did she believe her?

Needle regarded the winterstorm wolf with narrow-eyed suspicion, her natural distrust at odds with the ubiquitous perception of immortality that came with having a teenaged brain. After a long moment, Needle at last relented. Her tail moved with the lazy, agitated flicks of a displeased house cat.

Good, she stated with finality, setting a claimant paw upon her feathered trophy’s head.

For all her bravado, Needle was still fairly naïve.

¿Qué quieres? You just going to stand there and congratulate me, or did you want something?