[She's not afraid. She plants her feet and only loosely holds her pearl-handled revolve down at her side, staring it straight in the face. Perhaps she is a little afraid, but she doesn't run. The revolver's loaded with silver bullets, just in case this isn't just some especially large dog, just in case it's the creature all who have seen it claimed it to be. A rosary is wound around her right arm-- the one not holding the gun-- the tiny silver Christ swinging in betrayal of the slight shake of her limbs.]