The Heartwood Well, nobody's perfect

Wolves, they loved their words. June looked at the first one who was quite a distance from her. At least that was good. She wasn't a fan of strangers being close. A question was asked of her and she turned her head on one side questioning. What did it matter what she was doing? What was this wolf doing? Lifting her nose, Humility took in the scents and closed her eyes to enhance it. It was a strange one, one she'd never smelled before. Beneath the burning she could pick up how this wolf smelt different from her pack. They all had a common smell - her father's smell - that was missing. She wondered where the red-fur came from when another pack wolf came into range.

This one, too, had no scent of her father and yet had nothing in common with the red-fur. She opened her eyes, looking at the wolf that had spoken only to her. Did her father know she was here? This wolf knew her father, knew their pack, knew her? Had her father told this wolf about her name too? How she hated that aspect of life, giving out ones name like it was some sort of common thing, when did that become acceptable, why did she have to give out anything of herself to others?

What was she supposed to say? June was having a dilemma. She didn't want to lie, didn't think she should lie after Chaska's story - she didn't want to end up on the moon away from Mason - but she feared that the white-fur wolf would just take her home if he knew. He walked closer, she moved away, closer to red-fur yet tried to keep an equal distance from them both.

She would have to use her words. "Does yours?" she asked of white-fur. "Or yours?" aimed in the direction of red-fur. Why was the white-fur focused on her?