Oystercatcher Tide Pools and the devil makes three

Finch kept her eyes on the sky while her companion nattered on, giving him only a cursory glance when he tossed his head back over his shoulder. Not for the first time, she wondered if she had simply jumped from the frying pan into the fire. Tender bruises beneath her pale fur told a tale of what Mullins was capable of, but at least she knew that monster. She knew ways to play him, even if the opportunity rarely presented itself.

Badtooth, though... She followed because she had nowhere else to go, and he had risked his life to save hers, for reasons well beyond her comprehension. Finch wasn't naive; she knew there were always ulterior motives, and she suspected he had a few of his own. Time would tell whether he was better or worse than Mullins. At least Mullins was a coward. Badtooth certainly was not.

Yep, she replied, chancing another glance at the man. He was, at best, a few lean days away from skeletal, which gave the impression of weakness, but Finch knew better. It hinted at occasional desperation, and desperation was, perhaps, the most dangerous thing about any wolf.

It sounds a lot like y'just made that whole thing up. Maybe she was sticking her paw in a barracuda's jaws with even a passing attempt at poking fun, but she came from Mullins' crew. She could take a lot, if Badtooth turned aggressive. To impress ladies, she suggested with a sly, toothsome grin, since yer obviously missin' the physical appeal.

Gulls shrieked, and she thought, also not for the first time, about Badtooth's vague resemblance to those nuisances.