Ankyra Sound rule number four, gotta be lookin' pure

She was resting on a high shoal unearthed by the receding tide, with one white paw upturned toward her preening jaws, when an unfamiliar howl drew her ears sharply upright. For a time she forgot her station and continued to groom; it was only after concluding this business that Wylla remembered she was supposed to be some sort of authority and scrambled to attention. She crossed the wet foreshore at a clip and hurried across the drier gravel scattered about the base of the cliffs, dodging driftwood as she went. By the time she scaled the narrow path into the sequoia woods and arrived, two other pack members were already in attendance and Wylla was panting.

She didn't bother to say anything, introduce herself, or ask the question that the stalwart black-and-grey wolf had surely already asked. She drifted near to Nyx, ears lifted, and impassively regarded their small red visitor. Her golden orange gaze landed on the loner's bright pink eyes and she was reminded, fleetingly, of Galaxy.