Cerulean Cape where the moon is made of gold

Screech had parked himself a good distance away but it didn't stop him from being able to listen in to the many voices. The sounds were dimmer but not gone entirely; he still wished to linger near the positive vibes of the family even if he ached for his own. He was, however, internalizing to the point that he was oblivious to the slinking hybrid. It wasn't until she called out that his ears twitched, and he shot a look over his shoulder at her silhouette.

His first thought was one of fear. In all his previous dealings with wolves dressed in black, few had been positive. He was apprehensive even as she bestowed a gift upon him. As she slunk closer he watched, his single eye narrowing with unfounded suspicion, and took in the sight of the hunk of seal meat. His gaze lingered on it for a long minute before he got to his feet and drifted closer. He sniffed at it, probed it with his nose, but didn't take it yet.

The boy looked at the nimble girl again and this time, his fears seemed to ebb. He recognized her as the dancer. The one who had entranced him with her magical movements and made him forget, briefly, all of his worries. Why was she bringing him food? He had done nothing to deserve it by the standards of her family - he sang no songs, told no tales, but she was persistent and kind. Screech wasn't used to this and he didn't know what to do about it; his expression softened and he crooned a small whine at her, as if to ask, 'For me? Are you sure?'