Barrow Fields And sat with me in Neptune's yellow sands

Flaris was probably one of the few wolves not bothered by the aura of Barrow Fields. While he held his curiosities about it, and the strange mounds dotting the landscape, the earthy dryad didn't feel as if he was being hunted. This might've had something to do with his casual disposition, or it dealt with the fact that he had never been attacked by another predator before. Other wolves typically got along with him, and the stories were enough to keep him well away from the scent of cats or bears, so he had come into his prime without ever having been subjected to a wound of killing intent. His only scars were mental, from an awkward and teased adolescence, but none of that had any standing when he was completely alone and almost equally as oblivious.

It was pure chance that his ruby eyes caught the fleeting scurry of a canine that appeared too small to have been a wolf. Curiously rounding the small hill the creature had disappeared behind, he was surprised to find a skittish coyote there peering at him. "Oh! Well, hello there," the gentleman marveled politely at the meager girl.