Hushed Willows I do taxidermy.

Don't all roll out the welcome wagon at once, went his internal monologue. Usually it was hard to keep from blurting that kind of junk out in to the open, but they caught him on a good day. Hobbles here was tired. He was hungry. He was fed up with the cold. So when a spry young lady arrived he had something to focus on besides the unforgiving sensations a lone wolf oft experienced.

He was on his feet with a sweep, his steps minimal but filled with swagger. When she greeted him he stopped and looked her over — in a very obvious manner — but before he could even attempt to be charming (read: inappropriately creepy), another figure made an appearance. The dark stranger arrived without much of a sound, but as soon as Hob caught sight of his raised tail and serious business face, he wisened up (but only a little).

A lopsided and toothy grin spread across his face as he looked over Stark. He sized him up the same way he had Talewi — like he was deciding between taking a bite or not. This time he licked his lips, apparently liking what he saw, and promptly began his spiel: Well hell-oh! What a fine day for a stroll, hm? I'll just cut to the quick of it — m'name is Hollis, his ears perked and he raised his head slightly, as if proud of himself for remembering his name; as he spoke he slunk towards Stark, but not too close.

As you can probably tell, I ain't tied town to nobody or nothin'. And I was thinking, maybe, perhaps, you could use another set of teeth to keep this place safe? Or maybe a body to keep you ah, warm, his eyes flicked between the two wolves suggestively, and that was where he stopped rambling.