Verdant Basin journey's end

He's hyperaware of himself - he had to be. Alien territory, strange scents, an abundance of fawna that meant an abundance of wolves. No matter how big, how scarred, how intimidating, he was still a sitting duck, and there were plenty that existed who weren't scared of a few gouges and a deep voice. One ruined ear flickered forward despite his still-focused ministrations, his tongue still busy with one gash cut too deep. When it became all too obvious that the blur in his periphery was approaching, Karma let his gaze rise, the single eye following the scarred face presented to him.

Were they missing the same eye? An hint of amusement fluttered through his gaze as the younger wolf bowed his head, a soldier's scrutiny picking up on the mix of scents and the mess that had become of his face. A neater amount of scars, nicely framing a ruined eye; it was tidier than he could have asked for. For once, he's tempted to speak; he doesn't, but he can't help but wonder at so polite a display. He's never been one for conversation, though, and the scars over his lips curled like wax paper when his face twisted with something like a look of expectance. Can I help you? 

An ear lopsided thoughtfully - he hadn't smelled any borders, not really, but suppose he'd wandered into pack territory? That could be a mess, whether this bowing young man knew it or not. The veteran let his paws tuck together, sitting up with a shake of the matted fur over his shoulders. The least he could do was be somewhat polite back, right?