Herbalists' Cache young punks, get off my lawn

There was a surliness to her tone that was not exactly inviting. Nonetheless, Tambourine crept a little closer, head tilting even further. "It looks like you're breathing hard," he replied observantly, peering right back at her as she scrutinized him. He did make a point to avoid looking her in the eye. He knew he didn't need to submit to strangers, yet was respectful—especially of older wolves—by default.

He'd noted her grumpy attitude but chose to ignore it. Maybe she was just irritable after running in this unseasonably warm weather and he couldn't blame her for that. With a slow wave of his tail, he amiably introduced himself. "I'm Tambourine. What's your name?"