The Wall Toome

Bad men. She wonders what he knows of bad men. The hunter shifts again, but this time it is with some softening of head that implies empathy. He gives more than she expects from a wolf with his bitterness, and her own rears at the idea of giving answer to any question he might ask.
“I dispersed,” she submits plainly, though the circumstances of her departure were far more grim than she would share. The soles of her feet throb and she begins grooming them between cursory glances at Faust.
A proud man, and yet the refulgent eyes that held her raised more than arms, as if he too wished to prove something. Ayovi named it youthful. She had encountered many band chiefs growing up in Big Sky, and they had all known their minds.
“You are strong. Good hunter. Wolves will follow where you lead,” she offers, paws folding now into the warm down of her chest. It is no lie, but perhaps sugary words would also secure her another few days on this carcass.