Moonspear she was young and all she had was the city

She felt him several moments before the stark, loping wolf crested a mountain dune and came proudly forward in full view of the displaced loner. His bearing brought her into a crouch, her ears pulling back as she regarded the ground with submissive intensity. Though a wily and roguish creature at heart, Ness was no stranger to the instinct to submit. Despite his ornately regal stance, it was his scent that really described who this wolf was. Entwined more strongly among the multitude of scents lassoing this territory was his undeniable aroma. The power of him was palpable here— his home turf. His domain. His kingdom.

When she dared look up, it was to notice the scars upon a spotted white coat so similar to her own that it if were not for his distinctly broad, virile shoulders, she might've briefly thought she was looking at a reflection of herself. His eyes too, were different— darker (though she didn't give herself enough time to discern what color they were, her glance was so brief). The male young male didn't need to speak in order for her to know what he wanted. Her business here, of course. "I'm searching for a place to call home. This mountain— your mountain, called to me." She didn't feel the need to explain this. Any wolf born for the ranges knew this feeling well.

She remained crouched, balancing pertly on four steady paws sitting close to one another in a square. She didn't look up, but wasn't shy on speaking. Her voice was certain, respectfully unafraid. "I can pull my own weight, plus some if I need to, and I'm loyal to survival. I figure my best chances for that are with a well-fitted pack like this, so whatever prereq's you got, throw 'em at me. I'm here to call your pack my own."