Trish trembles in the darkness of the Werewolf's pocket; aware that she'll soon be dead at the hands of an intended prey... A tear rolls down her cheek as she hears the wolf call to the naga; his words distorted from the fabric of his pants but no doubt talking to her...<br/><br/>"Please don't kill me puppy!" Trish pleaded from the wolf's pocket, "I can give you the recipe for the potion I put on my arrows. How 'bout it? Deal?"