Sleepy Fox Hollow The way she goes, Bubs

A whoop and a smell -- but most importantly, the smell.

Anselm focused on it. Its salty tang -- the way it curdled the hairs along his nose. It was unpleasant and intriguing at once, leaving its calling card by thousands of scent particles that pulled him close.

The source: a round, fat little wolf. Anselm eyed her mistrustfully immediately -- for who trusts a fat wolf?

Vhat do you vant? He sighed in that oft-repeated phrase -- all that practice of late, and it came across delightfully cutting.

At her feet were two curiously spiky mounds - rocks maybe, except for the grotesque odor emanating from them. Girl, you fucking stink. Vhat is the matter vit you?