Iktome Plains There was truth, there was consequence

There was a strange, gravelly, almost mechanical iteration from the foxwolf's mouth—something teetering between Farstep's ancient language and Roofox's modern one—that he almost understood, but to his ear, the undertones were still the gruff noises of wolf. Their names would never be exchanged in the dark cavern, or ever, but Roofox would always stick in Farstep's mind as an image of an overly happy-go-lucky creature. The red of his fur and the striking blue of his eyes, details that would stick out vividly to other wolves, would fade from that image. Without the words for colours, Farstep noticed them without much comprehension and often did not commit them to memory. That the sky was blue and the grass was green was of no consequence in his world, and in fact, he scarcely noticed the difference. But even without remembering the brilliant red coat and the startlingly blue eyes, if he encountered Roofox again in the future, he would know him by scent and by that colourless image formed in his brain.

Though his manner was ever cautious and he was ready to draw back his head at the drop of a pin, Roofox didn't react poorly, so Farstep settled into the quiet monotony of pulling random things out of Roofox's fur. A stray feather had found its way into the slim male's ruff near his shoulder, and other, smaller pieces of dirt fell away from the idle preen of his teeth.