I should not be dreaming wolf dreams, the girl told herself. I am a cat now, not a wolf. I am Cat of the Canals. The wolf dreams belonged to Arya of House Stark. Try as she might, though, she could not rid herself of Arya. It made no difference whether she slept beneath the temple or in the little room beneath the eaves with Brusco’s daughters, the wolf dreams still haunted her by night.
Men want us to kiss them with beards, suck their dicks and kiss their balls with pubes, hug them with hairy arm pits, intwine our legs with hairy thighs, but if women have one hair on our body that isn’t on our head it’s disgusting