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There was something indescribable, something strange in the other wolf's mannerisms. Taggarik had a deep, gravelly voice, but he did not speak with so much depth and gravel as to warrant the flattening of ears and body. He pinched his brows momentarily in a fleeting expression of bafflement. Farstep, as if he understood the question, glanced up at the jutting peaks of the ridge, but the black wolf was not convinced that the question had actually been understood. Nor was he convinced that this wolf did not speak.

He uttered a short, quiet hm, and as the other male fell in to step with him he offered reasurrance in the form of another tail wag. In silence, he moved further down the yet unestablished borderline, his gray eyes peering through the trunks of trees and scanning across the timberbare peaks that could be glimpsed above the canopy. He sought to figure out his companion, soon to be packmate, with another question. One whose answer could not be given through gesticulation. He spoke softly, and his strides did slow or shift. "What do you want out of life, my friend?" He glanced sidelong at the wolf before returning his gaze ahead.