Jars, Jars, Jars

"Apparently smarter than you," Rags quipped, narrowing her eyes at the other female. It had been quite a while since she'd faced such rude treatment, but it was something that she was used to. She tended back to her glass jar, happy to see that a few blinking fireflies had alighted inside.

The stranger was young, though, and she supposed that the outburst could be excused. Some wolves didn't develop sense until later in their years, and even then, she'd met some truly callous individuals. Maybe she was one of those oddballs who had her own strange religion or belief system that dictated how she viewed others. There were plenty of zealots flitting about in these lands, and they seemed to congregate here for the festival. Rags would just use this encounter to gather more information. "Try using something sweet to entice the flies in - no one likes a sour attitude," she said pointedly.

Another pup arrived on the scene and she cast him a warm smile. Spending time with Torin's children had warmed her heart, and she was always glad to pay attention to a young wolf. She carried her jar over to him. "Sure, why don't you help me out?" she offered, smiling encouragingly. He was a rambunctious little thing. "My name is Ragnheiðr. Who are you, little one?"

Attempt #2 - no companion