Neverwinter Forest On some level, food knows its' food.

Belharra's face scrunched. She was trying to figure out if she knew any frilly and quiet folk. None in her circle fit that bubble, which she was about to point out when Mal said something about planning.

Belharra, plan?

Her face straightened out, a look of seriousness rare and contrite coming to her features. True be it, Belharra planned for nothing. She was a wolf that went with the wind and her whims. "Ye never heard, god makes fools out of wolves an' plans?" Belharra chittered to herself before continuing."But - I got no plans. I was hopin' to shack up the rest of the winter with Vallkyrie - but it seems ye done and stole her from me." Her tone was playful at the end, accompanied by that usual glint in her eyes: "Now -- wot's yer plan? Gonna chase out ole Belly-bog and throw her to the wolves?"