Word Count → 000 :: Out of Character text.
Amy moved through the city with care. She had found a nice store, lots of musical instruments in there. Amy had taken care to select what she would carry. Some were rotten and broken, but a few were still good. A flute, a guitar, and a saxophone were saved from the rubble and carried back towards the wagon. She would have Raoth carry it, but anything involving him had to be done with great care to avoid an imprint.
The coyote was leaning on the back of the wagon, fairly relaxed. His eyes were half closed, muscles clear across his form. The scars that he had lent the warrior the appearance of experience, instead of just being used as target practice as he'd often been used for to help Amy train. He came alert at her approach, watching Amy come over. She gestured for him to open the wagon, something the cocky slave proceeded to do. The items were arranged with care after she struck him across the face, a scold for his overly confidant air. He growled, but Raoth had been trained well, accepting it without attempting to strike back like he used to.
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