The woman sulked, moving along the shore, shuffling her paws one step at a time. Her shoulders were hunched, her head low, tail drooping. To say her face looked irritated was an understatement, her features twisted into a scowl. Torah was insanely itchy and her skin burned from mere existence. She was not unfamiliar with the discomfort. This was her second heat. It was an unpleasant time for she-wolves, but necessary, to bring forth future generations.
Hoping for some form of relief the auburn lady rubbed herself against a trunk. Scratching herself, shifting back and forth. It provided some relief but not enough. Torah groaned, rolling her eyes, and strolling off to the frozen creek. She used her teeth to scrape at the surface with little luck. The woman grumbled and flopped herself down melodramatically. She crossed her delicate face across one of her legs and stared off into the distance with a huff.
SHE WALKS. "SHE SPEAKS." SHE THINKS