Redtail Rise well he shot him with a mighty big number

He was north, farther north than he had been in a long time. Zoratto shudder, even in the brisk autumn wind. He wouldn't last the winter up here. His travel through here was merely passing through, until he could find a place to settle down where he would be warm through the winter.

Until then he wandered, passing briefly into cloistered, tight woods such as this one. There was a faint hint of charcoal in the air, increasing Zoratto's steps until a scream stopped him in his tracks.

HELLO!! It called. The red-masked wolf felt his ears press backwards against his head. The wolf who spoke it was surely more worthy of his namesake — Zorat means to roar — than he. But it was the tone of the voice that intrigued him; young and feminine. He approached the roarer, his pale green eyes staring upwards in search of a face.