Porcupine Ridge wizened and weary

Diane missed Novak's approach, too distracted and engrossed with herself to notice his quiet nearness until he spoke. She flinched, whirling about to face the deep, resonating voice; but the fear in her eyes was short-lived, and her fur resumed its flat lie along her sleek spine as she sighed in marked relief. "Oh, Novak, you scared me," she murmured, offering him a small apologetic smile for her reaction. She had never been so wary of herself before, having trusted and known everyone around her her whole life.

Things were much different these days. She was a thousand times more jumpy than she was used to being. The foreignness of such feelings was quickly starting to wear on her, and it wouldn't be too much longer before she wouldn't be surprised by her newfound reactions to things, or the ease of which she could be swept up into the emotional rallies of her new packmates. It was a sobering experience after living such a sheltered, uneventful life beforehand, but Diane was not deterred by newness of everything—even the newness of herself.

She favored her injured leg, holding it off the ground after turning to appropriately face the handsome cream wolf. She smiled more certainly, and balanced easily on three legs. "How do you like the Ridge?" she asked, curious to know the opinion of a wolf who was newer here than herself.