Big Salmon Lake northern soul

At her response, he too stepped forward, getting a better look at who he'd be speaking to.  She could have been a sister if he bothered to think about it, but he'd walked thus far without any scents even vaguely familiar drifting through his nostrils that it was more likely he'd taken the long way around the globe to get to the other side of his home region than it was for her to actually be a relation of his.  Hell, Quixote would probably be more apt to preemptively attack a family member that followed him rather than to stop and say hi.  They had no good reason to hunt him down.

Quixote did confirm that she was of one of the packs he was pretty sure was near here.  He hadn't been too close to their borders recently, but there was enough of a memory tied to the smells she carried with her to make it seem likely.  Just making the assumption, though, wasn't going to give him a good entry into words, and being the awkward conversationalist that he was, he used that as an opening.  You from that pack that's... West of here?  That or the one south.  Close.  Might as well confirm it, you see.  He had an excuse.  He was some loner who didn't have a damn clue about anything -- and he'd happily plead ignorance if it got him information he wanted.  His interactions with actual permanent residents of the area had been minimal.

He really did need to learn how to be more sociable, though, not that he was good with people to begin with.  People wanted to snark and spar, sure.  Be "normal," well... Uh.