Honeyed Pasture one false prayer wielding blasphemy

His reaction had her stiffening, as alarming as it was confusing. First he offered her the dead coyote they had both killed and now he was bristling up at her as if she had said something to offend him. He was a little unpredictable, which made unease settle in her chest. She didn't do well with unpredictable these days.

Calm down, she ordered. I'm not following you; I was just introducing myself. He had been fine with her presence when she was helping him out. And what does that word mean? Simmik asked. You've said it twice now. She watched him cautiously, waiting to see if he would bristle at her again or chill out and talk to her like a normal wolf. She was beginning to see how unusual he was, though, and so she didn't hold much hope that this conversation would go anywhere. What language is that? she also asked. It was strange and unlike anything she had ever heard before.