Firefly Ravine timmy turner made money off the iraq war

"I see" she replies, her expression turning to deadpan emotion once more. a brief curiosity that portrayed the obvious, yes, though it was still a wound. it must still ache. it must still bleed. it must hinder. and she found that fascinating in its entirety. another passing fancy to cut this one open to see the muscle and sinew. that indeed passed just as quick. Huntington did not speak anything more ridiculous. the urge to know who had done it and in what way was there, for the muscle could be torn and useless to walk upon.

though as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, she could see the punctures upon the woman's shoulder. she blinks. "is there danger in the area, then? a trespasser, a rogue... some sort of beast preying upon the wandering souls?" instead, she asks of the threat level to this immediate area. ignorant of the wars and battles and assaults that plague the packs and all their boasting. she is not close enough to see what could make such holes. she only assumes that the result was somehow connected to this woman and whatever pack she had.