Flycatcher Downs She came from over the cliffs

A call. It was one for company, a lonely call, but she did not turn yet. Another, a male, pulled beside her, grin on his face and seemingly friendly. She did not stop. There was no motion that she was even remotely interested in him but for the flick of her ears and her redirection toward a small corps of trees. Her legs, her body, was made for running, for travel, and for a moment, she pulled ahead as she sought the shade of the trees. But then, for some reason, she slid back into her position beside her new running-mate, stormy eyes impassive as they finally arrived at the corps, and her momentum was suddenly, smoothly, stopped. 

She was still, the woman cut from a storm, her golden pelt perhaps moving a bit quicker with her breaths, but that was the extent of her tiredness. The male made her curious, so different than the mysterious clan people of her youth, the effective and brutal wolves from the surrounding packs. He was openly friendly, and from this, she deduced a few things.

One, he may be an idiot. Two, the wolves were, in general, friendly here, and that meant a land that could provide for them. Three, should all wolves be as friendly as this male here, it may be easier then thought to begin her band. 

Watching him, carefully, slightly guarded eyes of storm passed over his figure quickly. She looked at him, stance alert but calm, head inclined as to say "You speak first". She wanted him to make the first move here, not her. She knew nothing about this land, they could all be idiots, serial-killers, or weird people in general.