Sequoia Coast woke him up with a barrel to his head (Nereides)

She wheeled on him, as he suspected she might. Homeros knew of few wolves who would react differently to a foreigner’s approach. She bristled at the sight of him, but the male maintained his neutral stance. He observed her peculiar appearance: a gangly body cloaked with silvery agouti that was marred only by the sooty black mask the she-wolf sported. He met her perceptive yellow gaze levelly.

“I am called Homeros,” came his reply. “I am a Consort of the Nereides. Do you know of them?” Her scent told him that she might. Perhaps his service to the sea-worshipping women would help put the stranger at ease.