Redsand Canyon the woman who danced to the music of her own demons

it was a little more fun to provoke a response in actual words, but renard continued to live in hope that someone other than the spy was capable of critical thought, so maybe it wouldn’t come to that. in her body language was, at least, enough of an indication; the flash of her underbelly in submission, a chirp of greeting.

fine. communicating in gestures only was – well, they could probably manage if they cared, but wasn’t that the problem. no point, not yet. renard returned a smile that was as friendly as their smiles ever got, not that that meant much.

they prowled a half-circle around her before they came to a halt, gesturing with their muzzle at the scabbed wounds layered beneath her fur. an impressive amount of damage to bear for someone as small as she was.

“was that donovan?” they asked. “or someone else?”