The Sentinels long dead rows of daffodils and marigolds

Smokestep was young; his idea of strength was a poor example of what the trait really entailed. Still, he nodded his head at the response from the male and swept his gaze over him once more in search of more marring. It seemed that he was relatively fit aside from the missing eye and the mangled foot. The thought that this wolf could go on marching without feeling a thing that happened to him – that seemed strong to someone like Smokestep. He could only imagine the trouble that he would find himself in if he'd been born with the same illness. It was more than likely that he would have found himself sinking to the bottom of the water in search of Davy Jones and his locker. Regardless, alive and well he believed the gift to be something of a miracle and he was completely enthralled with the wolf before him.

The story of the bear trap was surprising, but Smokestep took it with a few swift bows of his muzzle toward the earth. Both eyes flicked back to the mangled limb before they settled on the face of the wolf. “Well, ye've got guts, that's fer sure,” he remarked offhandedly, albeit a bit jealously. “Do ye live 'round these parts or are ye passin through, mate?” The pirate wondered if there would be a chance that he could convince the beast to linger for a while longer than he had planned, or if the idea of joining a pirate crew would even appeal to such a creature.