Hoshor Plains crimson blood

The wind changed direction, instead of blowing at him, it blew from behind him, bringing the fresh scent of the slave coyote towards him. He would've preferred a real Dotharan wolf but she would suffice for now, Rhoa knew where the hell his packmates were right now. Probably off escaping guard duty and exploring their surrounding lands, hopefully they would remember not to cross these native wolf's borders, they were hella protective of their land, almost as protective as the Dotharan were of their Bison.

Azzaro turned swiftly around, ivory eyes landing on the golden coyote. Concealed curiousity lingered within his gaze as he analyzed her, silently, stoically. "You are the slave my brother defended in the pack hunt," he said calmly with a birdlike tilt of his head. "Why did he do that?" Perhaps the two of them had things in common and became friends, friends with his idiot brother. Withholding a scoff at the idea, the agouti Dotharan shot her another question. "What is your name?"