Meadowlark Prairie Retreat into your mind

Practically blinded, it was her nose that was used the most, followed up, then, by her ears. She'd picked up upon a new, but familiar, scent before she'd even heard the male's approach, resulting in her own form having lurched to a stop. She could recognize the pack that the wolf belonged to, for within the same woods did her friend, Damien, live. Yet the owner was not a being that she'd ever met before, nor did she currently feel inclined to introduce herself and exchange pleasantries. It was a male, she knew, and so backwards a few steps had she gone, only to be stopped by the sudden appearance of another. Unlike the Blackfeather wolf, the new male had approached her directly, stopping a bit too close for comfort. Immediately, she'd drawn herself back, retreating a few steps in the direction that she'd come from. For the moment, he was the most concerning presence there, for he was near enough to pose an immediate threat. Yet, attack had he not, whining instead and awaiting an invitation to approach.

Asterr pondered his desire, knowing what had drawn him there, but wondering if he might turn out to be the lesser of two evils. Another was near, and she'd been warned once of the dark woods' wolves by a member of the pack that resided there, but the male standing before her was new. So much time had passed since her encounter with Thurin that the scent was not entirely recognized, triggering a sense of familiarity, but without a name to match. Slowly, she'd come to the conclusion that the man nearest to her was the safest option, for surely was the charcoal stranger far worse than he could ever be. It was then with a noise of her own—some sort of sound that straddled the line between a whine and a chuff—that she'd granted the tawny wolf his request.