<div class="floatleft">(http://www.infinitelibraries.com/images/Elli/Wolfspirit.jpg) </div><strong>Ansha Wulfhart</strong><br/><strong>Location</strong>: The Salty Aboleth<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Open<br/><br/><br/>Ansha sniffed at the air, before shaking her head - fish and salt and stale beer and sweat did nothing to make her think she /wanted/ to be anywhere near this place - but it could likely get worse. She shook herself a little, a leftover mannerism which calmed the wolf, and shouldered the door open, ducking automatically. Sailors tended to be short, and Ansha knew she was anything but. She scanned the room, breathing in slowly to catch the various scents. Stale beer, sweat, male musk, fish ... something that might have been from the kitchen, dead flesh, some rich perfume, silver...  something not far from a wince crossed her dusky features as she stepped in, although it could easily have been due to what she was walking over, barefoot.<br/><br/>She let the door close behind her and made for the bar. While whatever was in the pot didn't smell very appetizing, a traveler wouldn't care, and when you'd eaten rat raw, cooked rat became much less objectionable. Caution kept one eye on the man with the fangs in his hat, and her nose on alert for where the 'dead' smell was coming from.<br/>