The Heartwood a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime

His nose was full of bloodscent and his veins were full of adrenaline, so maybe it was understandable that the first words out of Cypress’ mouth were: “Mmph, mm — hm. Mmm…? Mmph!” It translated loosely to, “Thanks, Liff — wait. Who…? Eyes!” but as he dropped the rabbit and stepped protectively over it, he tried to repeat himself a little more coherently. “Thanks,” he murmured, a little edgily as was his wont when talking to strangers. Apart from the Cerberus, Cypress hadn’t met or expected to meet any two wolves who looked so alike, but this wolf was Liffey’s carbon copy — aside from the eyes and the gender. “Wouldn’t happen to have a sister, would you?” he questioned carefully, Eshe’s easy, meandering manner of speech shaping his baritenor into something almost inviting, not wanting to spill Liffey’s name if by some miracle this wolf didn’t know it already. Because he did think this wolf was related to Rannoch’s friend, he didn’t protest the cheerful-looking male’s proximity breach. “Are you joining the ranks?” he went on, borrowing his brother’s phrasing. He couldn’t smell Rannoch or Rian on the male, but it was best to ask anyway.