guess I'll just die then :)

Uh oh. She had a charmer on her paws. This day was getting worse and worse. "I don't think anyone in particular is mourning my presence," she replied dryly. Did he always act this way? Wasn't it exhausting? He didn't have news from the impact of the disaster, which was a bit frustrating. It made sense not to head any closer to the disaster site, though, and at least things hadn't gotten noticeably worse since she'd tumbled below ground. It was kind of nice down here. The air was crisp and ashless, even if it was a bit stale. With the water as deep underground as it was, the flow was clean and sparkling.

"Ragnheiðr," she offered. It would be rude not to reply. Unlike most wolves around these parts, she didn't have a surname - or had lost the memory of hers when she'd taken that fateful tumble so long ago. Was she doomed to just keep falling and falling until she finally cracked her skull? Keeping in mind the puphood fall that originated most of her nerve damage, Rags checked on her various faculties to make sure that she was still operable. Limbs: check, or as good as they would get. Ears: check, still floppy. Sight: eagle-eyed. Her head and left side were a bit sore, but overall, nothing too worse for wear. "Do you often go around rooting for damsels in distress?"