Snowforest Taiga at a loss

coyote woman skulks forward from the brush, gazes with cold practicality at the fresh wounds, the missing eye. a battle both won and lost. she does not speak yet, approaching with slinking gait of coyote. infection has not claimed this woman yet, but if she is as stubborn as that scowl suggests, it will not be long. such a deep wound will not heal with time alone.

"your blood will attract monsters, wolf." no sympathy, no pity. only the cold reality of a practiced survivor. kindness is a virtue she provides to none– particularly to scum who think themselves above, as all wolves do. kings and queens, they declare themselves. empires, they claim to build. filth, all of it. but she does not scowl at the thought, does not curl her lip in hostility. her stance remains cool, neutral, calmly awaiting a reaction before she responds in kind. she will not make her disgust known. not if some use can come of this.