"I feed my pack, when we travel," she says, pushing the first couple of cleaned carcasses in his direction. "No kitchens on the road, no taverns in the wilds. Only forage and prey--"

Her head whips to the side. A twitch of her tail at the base amplifies to a whip-crack by the time it reaches the finger-width tip, and she snaps a jumping frog straight out of the air. About eight feet away.

It's a long tail.

"I don't mooch," she tells him, hands going back to work while her tail deposits this newest carcass alongside the others. "My guts are just stronger than yours."