Lost Creek Hollow We're on fire

He didn't hear them so much as feel them. The water was like a cold punch to the stomach, enough to sharpen his senses after multiple days of travel. Floki stopped drinking suddenly, though his muzzle remained near the water. He blinked, his own hackles bristling; there were other wolves nearby. Slowly, he lifted his head, tracing his gaze carefully across the bright fall landscape.

There was nothing to be afraid of -- after all, he met strangers on a daily basis when he was traveling -- so he backpedaled from the creek and moved through the trees, nostrils flared. It appeared that the wolves were upwind, so he couldn't quite smell them; but as the yellow foliage parted around him, his gaze landed on a group of three. Normally, this would have been unremarkable, but as his gaze settled on the fiery red female, his innards turned to jelly.

His first instinct was to run, but he seemed to have lost control over his legs. He gaped at Wildfire and her companions, his bemused expression surely conveying his lack of threat (although he barely noticed the defensive grimaces of the other two wolves). He only had eyes for her: "Wildfire?"