Lone Star Mountain belonging to the night

So she was a packwolf. Noctura had assumed as much, judging by her scent which was rich with those of other wolves, and by her general state of good health. A wolf this small and young would likely find it difficult to survive alone in the wild, though he would wager she'd thrive if she charmed her way into favours from endeared passers-by.

Other than this, Noctura could make no further judgements on what made a packwolf, for he outright avoided them. She was one of the few he had met — and he hadn't even wanted to meet her. It was too late for regrets, though, and he found her to be a physically charismatic young creature. Charismatic in other ways too, but it was too soon to tell. For he hadn't heard much from her yet.

She inquired about his accent, and he wasn't surprised. Most voices he had heard since a very young age had been quintessentially North American, best distinguished not by accent but by their various tones and cadences. This girl had a lovely voice.

I'm from across the sea. I was born in the captivity of humans in England, and sent to this country at a young age. He paused. He didn't want to hear anything about packs, but he found himself wanting to learn more about this female. I'm impressed you still have a desire to travel. As a loner I can't relate to having a home, but I always imagined that once you have one you'd be loathe to leave it.