Silver Creek takes two to tango

"Hey" says Wren. Simple, right? He doesn't seem to know what she wants, so she elaborates. Taking note of his scarring, she is a canvas waiting to be painted. Boring. Uninteresting so far. "I'm in the mood to fight" and straight to the point. She shakes her head, scowling lightly "but a friendly match, okay? I'm still learning." A lie; she could fight if her life depended on it. Almost truth; she had so much more to learn.

Her tail wags somewhat. "I'm Wren" if he cared to know "if you agree, just no scars. No maims. I can't ruin this pretty face." Not yet, at least. But her grin told the man it was a joke. She wasn't a vain wolf. The woman stood there, waiting for his reply. His acceptance or denial. She didn't care as long as she found someone to spar with. And, for what it was worth, she had met yet another Saint.