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He shifted his mouth at the mention of fox. He had not detected the red-furred creature, but did not doubt one might be near; he trusted that this wolf knew well the difference in the scent of a wolf and the scent of a fox, and knew also that as powerful as their sense of smell was, it was not so godly as to be able to draw the scent of everything around them. The wind in particular played a significant role in the efficacy of their scenting.

"You probably did," he commented, and to her question he shook his head. "I don't. I have not been here long, but I intend to change that." She is young, fit, though decidedly more lean than she should be, undoubtedly from the demands of travel. He not so subtly shifts himself so that he can catch her scent, though her question to him alone had more or less told him she was another lone wolf, another potential recruit.

Situated now at a different angle, his peripheral sight catches a glimpse of movement between the naked branches of the trees, and he barely has time to register the bright hues before it seems to disappear. His ear twitched and he hummed, "your fox might be over there," with a jerk of his broad muzzle in that direction.