The still of the dale was soothing. The isolated territory abated much of his skittish state into a jittering breath that fell from his lips in quiet huffs. Small plumes rose from his nostrils and drifted slackly until they ebbed into the darkness. Tadec was not as fearful there, for the scent of fox was stronger than that of the wolf, and a small stream crept over dark grey stones. The coywolf paused and bent his neck to drink, savoring the way the gelid water sated his parched state.

A crow sounded overhead, cackling wickedly against the wind. Tadec's pointed muzzle was lifted to spy on the ominous symbol before it shuddered against the air and took flight with the catch of its pitch feathers. The thief ran his tongue against the dark hairs of his muzzle to collect remaining droplets before he picked his way across the small stream and continued on the other side.

A call cut short his attempt to retreat into the wood. The length of his ears swiveled briskly atop his skull and he pointed his muzzle in her direction with a stiff-legged fear. The words were friendly enough, Tadec knew that he should not have been too concerned, but the female had come from his rear and he had not scented her before her voice had rung. The fiery russet fur along his shoulders stood erect and bristled against the backdrop of dark coal. Latching his sights to her features, Tadec found that she easily could have overpowered him. She was a full-fledged wolf.

Realizing that it would not have been wise to be rude to this wolfess, the thief dipped his muzzle toward the earth – protecting his throat and offering respect. “Greetings,” he rumbled in a timbre that was a startling contrast to the limber shape of his figure and the sharp jutting of his bones.

The drab female was a curious one. She asked him a few short questions and one of his ears swiveled atop his crown before fixing forward once more. Burning eyes roamed over the shape of her figure and he found that she was appealing in her own right, for the figure of a wolf. The hazel of her gaze was drawing, if anything. The thief shook his head at her final question. No, not lost, “hunting.” His voice slipped through a narrow muzzle and he cast his head to the side. Though he was not searching for the foxes of the glade, but the form of another wolf. “Looking for wolf called Tiel'c,” he then added with a small, ghostly little smile. His smoky frame moved toward her a few tentative steps before pausing and then tilting his head slowly to the left.

“You lost?” Tadec then asked her, curiously. If the glade was where the wolves went when they were lost, he would have admitted to mistake and departed, but he was curious why she would ask him such a question, only to be wandering the meadow on her own, just as he.

The beige girl remarked that his father's moniker was strange, but Tadec did not stir at the sound of it. He had never been fond of any piece of the man, let alone his calling. The stranger then proceeded to claim that the glade was not an appropriate place to hunt for wolves, but rather foxes. The thief tilted his head just so and blinked slowly at her. “But you are here,” he counterpointed in a confused tone. A fox in disguise, he thought with a modicum of interest, watching her frame for any signs that she clutched a secret shape beneath her tan hide. If that were to be his argument, he was there too, and shared no blood with the sneaky little reddish creatures of the brambles.

Quick to change the subject, the unnamed woman shed light on her own calling and then inquired his own. She had mentioned that she belonged to the pack nearby and he darted his gaze in the direction she referenced with a single swiveling ear. The hybrid flicked his tongue across his nose and dipped his muzzle only just before fixing her with a molten stare once more. “Laurel,” he tested her name and a ghostly little smile lingered on the corners of his lips. “I am called Tadec.”

The girl seemed as though his point was invalid and stated so in a single word. He gaped at her a moment, flustered by the inquiry, and splayed his ears atop his crown. One paw was lifted defensively, but he placed it on the ground and allowed that particular conversation fall dead between them. She seemed to find the same conclusion in a few short words and he awkwardly shuffled his feet, wondering if she would want something more from him. Tadec found nothing of interest on her, and so he thought of turning and bidding the wolf farewell.

His name against her tongue was peculiar to him, but he accepted it with a swift nod of his head and a small, shriveled smile. Then, she inquired why he would search for Tiel'c, and what he might have done to warrant such a chase. Immediately the coywolf became troubled and stiff. His brows knitted over his eyes and he opened his mouth to answer, unable to find the words in her tongue. From the ground to her face, his gaze roamed. “He killed my mother,” the thief responded.

The admittance did not seem to do him well with the girl. She responded rather awkwardly, which led to the shuffling of his small feet and the swiveling of his large ears. Feeling that this was because she had not found any sort of particular fondness with him, he did not attempt to stop her in her retreat. Instead, Tadec offered a polite waver of his tail and a small, ghostly smile.
 
Just like that, the beige female wandered away from him and toward her home. She bid him luck on his journey, but the thief did not understand how this would assist him in any reasonable way. Still, the phrase had formerly been intended with good nature. Tadec did not think that she was troublesome, and so he turned himself – in an opposite direction – and slinked away to hide in the shadows.