Whitefish River A rake of claws against a mirror

The little dog runs. Fear fills Damsel's eyes. Come! Beast! Her broken common words urge him forwards, the woman lunging to pull him across the river. His small size makes it rather easy.

Of course, she does not understand that to the wolf her actions may appear malicious. She tucks the confused boy beneath her, letting out a snarl towards the man who, in her mind, had been chasing him.

Her fur bristles, tail lifts, but there is no fear in her stance.