Eye Of Newt, And Toe Of Frog

The scent. Yes, the scent. Leera knows pregnant women have a certain perfume, a distinct fragrance that  sets them apart from the rest and tells the noses of the world that they are with child. It's heavy and unmistakable and the witch seems to be obsessed with it. Disconcerted, Leera pulls away from the ghoul, flattening her ears once again and this time peeling her lip back to reveal a row of white, needle-point molars. Leera doesn't fancy insanity. The insane are unpredictable, and when others are unpredictable there's no way of ensuring the safety of her unborn litter.

The wolfess curls away into the night a few paces, really just attempting to leave the with altogether, but there is something still that haunts her. Leera pauses in the shadows, a single ear flicking back as she turns her head around to the woman. "Careful when you speak of my scent, woman."

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