Fox's Glade Lost our gravity, now we're weightless

Burr rubbed the side of his head against the boulder several more times for good measure, relishing the relaxing tingle that shot down his spine, and was readying himself to return to Easthollow when his ears flung forward, seemingly of their own accord. He lifted his gaze from the leaf litter and locked on Meteora's intelligent but cold blue-green stare. Burr's whole body twitched with shock. He hadn't been expecting anyone else to be here, and certainly not a total stranger. She looked like she could be his mother with her flawless greyscale coat, but hers was much darker and more heavily patterned than his.

Unversed and untried where handling unknown wolves was concerned, Burr eased himself onto the balls of his feet and offered a few cautious shakes of his tail, complemented by the quick flicker of svelte ears toward his neck. In time he would come to understand that he had a right to act dominantly in such close proximity to Easthollow, but for now he was just a boy, greener than summer pastures, and he didn't know any better. He half expected this wolf to be no different from Murdock (and he was incredibly right about that), and he also expected admonishment. These expectations pushed him easily toward submission.

"Hello," greeted Burr disarmingly with an owlish blink and a somewhat doggish tilt of his head. "You don't hafta be afraid of me," he assured her, having entirely misread her body language as fear.