Grouse Thicket An Irishman walks out of the bar

omg yes!! lol'd at the harpooning comment

it was over in a flash -- for the rat apple hunted anyway. caiaphas' simmering yellow gaze traced that macabre dance, watching as the long, whirling tail disappeared down the jaws of the wolf that, for the rat, must have been leviathan-like and all-consuming.

she was not unaware of apple's thorough inspection of her -- nor was she unaware of the tattered, ugly cuts that snarled across her face -- her face hurt, with a rather tender pain she had not experienced in some time; good god, was this what getting old felt like?

all the bones and structures complaining, everything protesting under the groan of the wheel? she shifted a leg and noted the soreness of it; perhaps in a younger age, she would have easily bounced back from such a terrific scrap -- but she was no spring buck, and charon had thoroughly seen to it she did not escape unscathed.

caiaphas gave a rueful smile; this one was witty -- she had met many witty wolves, but not many old witty wolves. their mouths tended to spell their early doom, but this one seemed different: perhaps she was that rare strain of witty and pragmatic - which so few witty wolves tended to be.

"what happened, is i got away." she could have lied and said she killed him, but then how would she get this sharp-tongued crone to hunt for her? who wants to provide dinner to a murderer? then she smiled almost apologetically: "an old friend, with an older grudge."