Whitefish River the raven unfolded its wings and turned daylight into dark

She easily submits to him and her tongue catches his chin as he presses into her space. Held stiff moments before, his tail swayed in a gentle wag; a clear indication of how affecting her submission was to him. It both pleased and reassured the wolf, who took the opportunity she afforded him to scrutinize her scent by sniffing at the thick furs along her nape, neck and shoulders.

His inspection carried on until his nose had moved to her rib cage, and by then he was satisfied and stepped back from her, licking his lips and turning his head to face the river. His ears relaxed, and his tail casually drifted between his hocks. His aggression had passed and now it was he who sought to reassure her with these calming signals. Skwol moved away, pausing once to sniff at the snow, until he had retreated two lengths of himself and settled onto his haunches.

Questions still danced in his eyes as he looked her way and there remained a lingering uncertainty and unease that was not outwardly shown. But his nose had confirmed there was not a trace of devil nor dog on her and his nose had always guided him.

"You look so much like a dog," he commented.