Lost Creek Hollow tell me honestly.

Larkspur tore at the pinecone, spitting out scales and then licking the debris out of her teeth. Harlyn had turned away to check on her sons and their epic battle when Lark froze and stood up, hackles raised and ears perked. Someone was nearby, and it wasn't her father. Instinct told her to run back to Harlyn. Or at least to get her mom's attention. But Larkspur was a bold little girl, and instead of running from danger, she growled and began to yap at the stranger in the distance.

Harlyn was out of the den and standing over her daughter almost instantly, testing the air and staring into the woods. She was silent where the girl was noisy, but she was far more experienced and knew within seconds that there was no real danger about. Only a packmate, though one the alpha had never before met.

"Shh, Lark. It's alright," Harlyn murmured, nudging her with her muzzle until her barks settled into small, grumpy growls. Turning back to the stranger, Harlyn called out to greet her, then waited to see if she might approach.