Herbalists' Cache with my eagles t-shirt hanging from the door

From what they could gather, there was a single, middle-aged she-wolf in generally good health nearby. If she was alone, then who had she been talking to? Motionless, Masque pondered this but decided they did not care enough to investigate. They turned to depart.

“Hello? I’m not here to cause any trouble,” a feminine voice said from much closer at hand now, prompting the Caru to freeze and swing around toward the sound.

A large, thin gray wolf materialized from the cache’s underbrush. Masquerade’s gaze swept over her, catching a glimpse of honeyed eyes set in a freckled face, before averting their own eyes to the side. They didn’t want a confrontation, though they hesitated as they considered the woman’s words and her presence here.

I don’t think there will be any trouble, Masque said, ears folding. My pack lives there, they added, motioning toward the rise to the north, so you’re not too close. I’m Masquerade, by the way, they offered a little awkwardly, not really one for small talk.