Fox's Glade does that secret handshake include me?

He took a startled step back as this man--Murdock--pressed his muzzle into Phocion's shoulder, eyes flashing for a brief instant, like a turbulent sea. His tribe, while loving, was also physically aloof; wolves did not touch often, and they certainly did not touch strangers or newcomers. Not like this.

On Silvertip it had been different, but then, his time on Silvertip was short compared to the moons he had spent with the tribe. And he had been alone, before all of that.

"Um, I'm Phocion," he murmured, his voice shy and boyish for the first time in a while. No one had managed to rattle him this much since he had gone south. He gave a nervous grin, a bit tremulous at the corners. "From Bearclaw Valley," he confirmed, tone growing a bit more bold.

His gaze narrowed, surveying the wolf in front of him. "You remind me of someone," Phocion began, "but I can't think of who."