Horizon Ridge Chaos

He thought she would name a pack at the very least, but the answer he got was succinct, though he did not recognize the location. If there were wolves out there that spoke the way he did, he was happy. Maybe one day there would be a little corner of the wilds populated solely by francophones! But that was pushing it; Renoir had no intention of settling down in such a manner himself, though the man he had been visiting on the beach -- the dark wolf who had so graciously offered his home -- came to mind instantly.

The golden boy did not speak those thoughts, but listened, and began to idly preen at his feet. There were some bits of bug stuck to the fur of his forelegs, and it was unsightly even in the dark. It is familiar. It is easier to understand, unlike the common tongue in this place. He lifted his head at this comment and stuck out his tongue, making a blehh face to get the point across, and the sheen of his moist tongue caught the light. There is no flow to their language. I almost prefer silence among the natives here...

Upon realizing he was ranting a little, the boy shrank back a little and placed his head upon his crossed paws, his nose tipping just outside of the cave and in to the intermittent sun. But I am thankful. I think my search has ended finally, and I have found a place with my own kind. Although he needed to visit Donnelaith and be made confident in his decision, something told Renoir that the choice was simple — or perhaps already made up in his mind, somewhere.