Dawnlark Plains Sometimes, the last thing you want comes in first.

She continued to fuel his discomfort, so much so that Artyom felt his guard hairs prickle along his sturdy shoulders. He frowned deeply at the alabaster stranger, unsure how to deal with her as she continued to insist that he "was the one they saw".

The ranger exhaled in a huof through flared nostrils, then snaked his tongue between lips to nervously smooth a whisker. With one last orick of a gilded ear, he opted to step aside. "Good luck with your search," he offered, uncertain about turning his back on the very off wolfess as he carefully turned away; he had no interest in whatever offering she allegedly had for him, "but maybe I can't help you after all." He eyed her suspiciously one last time, before making a speedy exit.