Bearclaw Valley That I'm not the carefullest of girls

A stranger. His scent reaches her suddenly; abrupt and unpleasant.

There is no time to think, for he is already here looming over her. Her head whips around with teeth bared before she truly thinks, jaws aimed for the source of the voice as she lurches. No words are exchanged, her scent laced with a mix of fear and unfiltered aggression.

It is instinct, weaved into her blood through the dangers of her previous home. There was no room for words where she had come from. Only bite, rip, and pull; and pack wolves? You never waited to see what they would do.

Rala has escaped her mind now. She is far too focused on the issue at hand.