Duskfire Glacier fired

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she fucking hated this frozen snot hundred degrees minus in summer shitcream mountain with every hair on her paper-thin coat - but ashes to ashes, dust to dust; when life's a cunt, theft is a must.

diesel knew scumeyes's pack hunted around here, driving lower ground prey up where it hadn't an advantage. scavenging would do fuck all for her chances of someday mingling with the wolves, but she was desperate. if another few days went without a meal, the mastiff would reach the point where her strength and bite - her bread and butter - would begin to shrivel.

and a dog without a card up her sleeve, that can't run, can't track, can't trap, can't do fuck-all, doesn't live to bemoan the winter.

diesel's long jowls dragged along the ground as she took in deep snoffs, looking for promising scent marks. her stocky, forward-heavy, wrinkled self pulled downward by gravity, made for quite an award winning sight amidst the cool landscape of shitpile fuck mountain.