Fox's Glade stags

Skwol followed his companion's gaze across the expanse of territories embracing them — and he understood without a word being said. Triva did not have a destination in mind. In this way, he was the same as the white wolf, who traced the edge of his his mouth with the tip of his tongue in consideration. More for the benefit of Triva than himself — he knew without having to ruminate on it that he could not accept the offer. But he did not want to dismiss the wolf so swiftly. Triva seemed like a genuine and appreciative wolf, a wolf worth travelling with, a wolf worth getting to know.

Following several moments of silence, Skwol shook his head. "I cannot go with you, my friend." He said, with an apology held not only in his soft tones but in the frowning curves of his expression. "If our trails cross again maybe then. But I need to stretch my legs more right now." The white wolf canted his head. He felt that Triva would understand without further explanation.