The Sentinels maybe some robitussin

That voice!

Lotte had been sleeping deeply, the inky tip of her muzzle tucked into the hollow formed by her hip and flank, when a low, resonant howl struck the air. The warm familiarity she felt upon hearing it jolted her to full wakefulness and her large paws were spurred into motion quicker than her mind could make the voice-face connection. A wheel with snapshots of her acquaintances, friends, and family members spun wildly before her mind’s eye like a single-reel slot machine, and it slowed in time with her flying feet as she glided to a stop that was graceful despite her mental disarray. “Day, it’s you,” she realized, her tone husky with vestiges of sleep and colored with bright surprise, her argent eyes dumbfounded. Joy stole over her, slowly at first, then gaining in exuberance and swiftness, the curve of her lips giving way to a shimmy down her middle as her tail began to eagerly flag the air.

“It’s you,” she repeated, and thought nothing of crossing the border and closing the distance between them, a roll of thickly-furred, athletic shoulders and hips seeking to draw her body against his in a perpendicular, catlike motion. She had no illusions that he had come to see her specifically and knew vaguely of his intentions after their previous meeting; still, she found herself hoping that he would remain with the wolves of the wood for a prolonged period of time. “Welcome to Donnelaith,” she said cheerfully. “Will you mind if I keep you company for now?”