Walk . Talk . Think
He was defensive, knowing full well that she lied about her identity. How surprising. The wolf wasn't an imbecile, not like others she had come across in her past. What a queer fact about the black-furred monstrosity, the aggressive bastard of the earth. Like any other wolf, this stranger held no place in the reserved heart of the coymutt woman; she felt no need to relay important facts about herself.
"Myron." The name rolled off of her name with such a surity and confidence that alluded to it belonging to her. She could be Myron, she could be Talitha. She could be anyone, given enough pressure to hide facts. And this stranger didn't deserve a ready admission to her true self. The name masked the woman's persona, leaving her with a false confidence in the presence of danger.
A trick. Could she do a trick? Having consumed a bit more than a little liquor, she had a steel resolve in response. "Not at all, but I can do this!" With that came laughter and, in a quick and fluid motion, she moved from her feet to her hands, letting her toes stretch out toward the sky. What did she care if the worn cotton of her skirt flopped the wrong way? Or that her hair obscured all sight? She remained in the inverted pose for only a moment, returning to her upright position with less ease than she had left it; indeed, she toppled over instead.
Her clumsiness brought forth more eruptions of laughter, a sound that was silenced as he spoke once more. Her smile faded. Talitha's world became grey once more. It was so like a wolf to threaten a daughter of the beautiful Inferni lands. So like one of the monsterous devils. Her face became somber.
"I was just wandering. Clearing my head. I advise you to bite your tongue on the worth of my excuses."
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