Fox's Glade does that secret handshake include me?

Murdock did not care much for foxes - he did not care much for any creature, save the ones he'd come to call his own. Steph, Poppy, and even Valette to a certain extent. And as he cared for them, he cared for the wolves they cared for, to a certain extent. He'd do what he could for the rest of the pack. That included making sure the foxes knew where they belonged.

It did not take much. A few well-placed scent-markers along that side of the border. It was a good thing, too, because he was not sure how much more his ribs could take. Still intent on hiding this injury from the rest of his packmates, he travelled deeper into the the glade, until the scent of Easthollow was no longer so heavy in his nares. He'd been about to sit, except that a pale ghost danced somewhere up ahead, and Murdock was curious about any wolf that close to Easthollow's borders.

"Hey there," he called to the other, moving into plain sight. While the other male's coat stuck out among the dark vegetation, Murdock's tended to blend in. Neither of them needed to hide like apparitions when he was only trying to have a conversation. "You're one of the neighbors, eh?" he asked, detecting the scent of the valley on the other's coat. He'd been instructed to be tolerant toward the valley wolves, but then, he was a tolerant wolf by nature. He offered an idle wag of his tail.