Flycatcher Downs i forgot softness, it did not serve me

Root notices the figure before she hears the howl, watching carefully as he begins to move.  Her ears cup forward, attentive, but her own motion has come to a complete halt.  She scans the area behind him, waiting for another figure to show up but when nothing happens and, instead, a call is made, Root is hesitant to keep going.  The call doesn’t appear to be a threat and it causes the other wolf to approach, slowly, and eventually she can begin to see the features the other has.  His fur similar to her own, able to hide himself easily in the early spring and late fall, but in winter he sticks out like a sore thumb—much like her own pelt.  

He continues to move and Root hasn’t budged an inch, hesitant to engage.  She came out here to follow a scent of a moving herd that has been passing by the south of her land, not to socialize. He is likely to slow her down more than help her and she takes a few steps in her original direction but she stops a few feet off to the side.  

If the herd ends up too far from Lost Creek Hollow, it would do her no good to keep tracking.  Root isn’t sure she can convince her pack mates to come out this far for a kill that isn’t guaranteed, given there is no promise they would be successful.  Her jaw tightens and she swings her nose to see the other still moving, slowly coming into view a lot clearer than before.  Root doesn’t continue to move then, turning her body to face the stranger.  She barks her greeting, jerking her head so she could get the other to follow her as an idea settles in the back of her mind.

Root turns, galloping a few feet where she’d been going, then turning back to see if the other decided he was curious enough to follow.