Barrow Fields At least that’s what I could read

sorry for the delay!

as she slowly caught her breath--damn if it hadn't taken off like a hare into the hedgerow--Lycaon kept scanning around them just in case she was indeed spooked by something corporeal. his ears tensed against the all-encompassing stillness; all-encompassing nothing. 

the bewilderment she expressed when he brought up her whereabouts gave him the impression she was in a very susceptible position, and he masked faint concern that she might parade into unsavory circumstances if he left her to her own devices now. the wolves who chose the coast as a home were not seldom fiendish, and generally unobliging of strangers. troubling company to keep if you were a timid girl trying to elude unscrupulous beings. "oh, well. it's nothin' special this time of year," he imparted modestly. it was difficult to ward off the elements on the open-faced coast; there was a greater risk for exposure; but it was his preferred residence, so here he remained and did what he could to eke out a fair-to-middling existence for Ingram and himself. 

taking note of her intrigue, Lycaon moved stride alongside her. were she to accept his inferred bid to walk with him, he would lead her away from the vulnerability of the ringent fields and onto the path that would take them inshore by moonlight.

if he had struck a cord with his inquiry about her pack, he did not detect it. her story of dispersion from her family was not uncommon, and didn't particularly astound him, but he did wonder why the lash-black girl elected to leave with the apprehension that seemed to feast gluttonously on her nerves. he shrugged. "just figured you were out here looking for something and got turned around." evidently projection on his part. that was his reason for being here--seeking out someone he desperately longed to find. sadly but surely, her anticipation would be dampened by his lack of reasoning.

"um, shot in the dark here. have you met anyone going by the name Wylla? she's.." he drew back slightly, straining to find the ideal way to describe his sister without gratifying the character-assassination aspect of such a task. "the 'scorch the earth' type. about your size, with a distinct v-shape of white on her face to compliment the permanent scowl. maybe the reason you were running in the first place." he spoke, a mirthful smile tip-toeing to his lips.