Lost Creek Hollow I'm unsure of where I stand

not at all! (:

The women looked up. Her flattened ears perked and her limp tail stiffened. She heard pawsteps behind her, crunching into the snow as they went. She let the scent fill her nose, and was relieved to sense that it was a wolf of the hollow. Which one, she was not sure, but she recognized the familiar scent that each of the Hollow wolves had acquired a specific scent. She didn't look towards the wolf, but when they came and greeted her she felt the need to.

He spoke as if he offered company, and truthfully she did. She forced a smile and shuffled slightly to the side, offering the place where she had sat for him. There was less snow, as she had already compacted it down, and so it would've been slightly more comfortable. While she did not recognize his scent, she knew his face. He'd been on patrols with her before. The two hadn't ever exchanged words other than perhaps orders on hunts or border parties, and she knew nothing about him. This was Ancalagon, a male accepted to the pack somewhat recently. He was a training guardian, she knew, and had spent time at the borders more often than she had recently.

Ilya waited for him to join her. She was unsure of what to say. She was falling into the character of the wolf she was when she arrived at the hollow. She was antisocial and socially unstable. Before she arrived at Mordecai and Harlyn's borders she hadn't spoken to other wolves in months. Perhaps that was where she would head now, she wasn't sure if that was what she wanted. 

She cleared her throat a little, addressing his comment. "A bit," she murmured.