Firefly Ravine timmy turner made money off the iraq war

Something about the other doesn’t settle well with her. The more she studies her, she notes the distinct pattern of her coat. Her nose does not pick up any real pack scent that she can recognize. Another loner, she assumes. It’s awfully cold these days.

“Here? Probably not,” she says and shifts her weight, uncertain if she wants the other looking at her wound and sizing her up. Mallaidh lingers on the pink of her nose, though. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything like it before. “But the wolf that did this is not a threat anymore, either,” she explains and licks her lips. As much as she wants to remain even and balanced, eventually she cannot and she eases the pressure of the wound by hovering her front leg paw above the ground, touching only by her toes.