Kintla Flatlands regency

Shar-Kali's shrewd eyes studied his shifting expression. She unfolded gracefully, rising to sit with her paws pressed neatly together. "I took a guess," she replied, "You have the look, at least." Dante was solidly built and in good health, clothed in a no-frills palette of mixed greys that the older wolf appreciated. He carried himself like a leader ought to, but she got the distinct sense that leadership had not been high on his list of childhood dreams. Shar-Kali had lived for her very own slice of power since she was old enough to understand hierarchy, and the swell of envy she felt for Dante now was a physical sensation. "I am Shar-Kali," the pale woman introduced, dipping her head to him, "Forgive me for dipping into what you likely consider your supplies. I have been on the move for a long time now, and my youth is behind me." Her grey eyes glittered above a closed-lipped grin. "Felling oxen alone is a young lady's game, I'm afraid."