Valley of Gold Hear Santa Monica, I swear it's calling me

She remembered this place.

It'd been home once, or something like it. This valley of gilded grass, this endless golden sea that reminded her so of her mama. Foxglove missed her more than she could admit, even to herself; to admit it would be to admit that she'd been wrong to leave, and she could never do that. She could never go back.

It wasn't that she didn't love her family, she thought, trailing through the grass with her nose low to the ground and her tail high. But this? The sight of the sun rising over the vast expanse of lands unexplored, the promise of what the horizon held beyond the boundaries of the familiar — oh, she wouldn't trade this for anything.

Tuck had found his way to this area. He wasn't sure where he was. He'd left a pack that he'd found and had enjoyed, but he didn't like staying very long in most places. He looked around, sniffing the air to see if he was getting hints of scents. There was one. It was fresh and close. 

He lifted his nose a bit higher, trying to catch the scent in the wind, and then following it until he found the source. "Hello," he said when he saw the other wolf.

It was the voice of a stranger which finally broke through her haze of thoughts. Foxglove, ever eager for company, halted with her ears standing tall and her tail swaying merrily. She only paused for a moment, just long enough to take in the sight of him; young, like her, but with furs in pale muted tones that matched the wintry mood of the land.

Hiya, She called back, starting toward him. She sniffed at the air delicately, testing the mix of scents. No pack scent; just him. Just passin' through?

Tuck watched as she turned back to him and his tail flicked. "Yeah, I am," he said. "Am I on your territory?" He asked, approaching her slowly and carefully.

He tilted his head at her and studied her for a moment, curious about this stranger.

Nah, not exactly, Foxglove rejoined with a friendly swish of her tail, taking a few steps closer. Well, I'm kinda stayin' here. But I'm not gonna chase you off. That's not a great way to make friends.

Name's Foxglove, she added, eyes bright on the stranger. Rusty Foxglove Medeiros. But uh, Foxglove is fine. Or Rusty, or Fox. Just don't call me Glove, yeah? Someone had tried that once; she hadn't cared for it.

Tuck nodded at the wolf, agreeing that chasing him off would not be a good way to make friends. "That's what I hear," he told her.

"It's nice to meet ya, Fox," he took a few steps closer, still watching her with curious eyes. "I'm Tuck. Tuck Lazore." His lips pulled back in a smile. "Are you trying to make friends, then?" he asked.

Foxglove grinned at that. Oh, all the time, she told him, her tail swishing faster behind her now. Hey, wanna see somethin' cool? I found a real big rock over that way. It kinda looks like a chicken. A big-ass grey chicken.

Her mama liked chickens. The memory sobered her a bit, but only for a moment; it showed as the briefest flicker of something like sadness behind her dark eyes, in the way the corners of her mouth pulled down for a second. Then the moment passed, and she pushed it aside, turning with a look tossed over her shoulder to see if Tuck meant to follow.

Tuck raised an eyebrow as Foxglove asked if he wanted to see something cool. Before he could say that he did, she was speaking again. 

"A rock that looks like a chicken? I gotta see this," he said as she turned away he started to follow after her and when she looked back to make sure he was, he gave her a smile.