Firestone Hot Springs i could love you

Teeth buried in the neck of the coyote, it was the next breath drawn inward that informed Stjornuati of his own error.

Not coyote. Wolf.

Cursing the springs for their steam, for his inability to sniff out the other properly before, he stopped himself from biting down and severing the wolf's jugular, instead tossing them into the pool of water not a foot from them.

Af hverju berstu sem hrææta í stað rándýra? He demanded, tail lashing in his displeasure. Your fight suck. He rumbled in common tongue, glaring at the not-coyote.