Otatso Wetlands When I had laid it on the floor

The vehemence in Stark's no threw Saena a bit, and she drew up a little and planed her ears to the sides of her head in an appeasing gesture. There was a flicker of confusion across her features, but then understanding dawned, and confusion turned to curiosity. Even as Stark pointed out that his pack was in the other direction entirely, Saena was studying his face, searching futilely for some clue as to why he had responded with such a passionate tone of distaste. She'd never been good at reading others, though, and neither could she read Stark's thoughts or the reasons he might have for taking issue with a pack of rats.

Either way, a wolf who detested Larksong was surely a friend of hers, and she let herself relax as much as she could with a stranger in her vicinity. "I didn't know there was another pack up here," she explained, but didn't know where to go from there on the subject, so instead focused on his name as he shared it. Stark. A short, bold, and easily recognized name, not unlike Luke. And Reek. She had to wonder then what sort of wolf this Stark was, whether he was more like the courageous, kind and steady Luke, or like the charismatic yet manipulative weasel that was Reek.

She met an awful lot of wolves with short and bold names, she reflected, and then dropped it. "I'm Saena," she told him noncommittally with a slight tilt of her head. "Does that pack still exist? Larksong, I mean. I have... some business there."