Whitefish River the raven unfolded its wings and turned daylight into dark

The way she cocked her head and seemed to strain to understand him reminded him of a pup that was too young to grasp the spoken language. It brought a subtle frown to his face. The white wolf was making an effort to accept her in his proximity but found his discomfort growing again. He knew the tongue was not needed for communication and he no longer perceived her to be an immediate threat. But he was, as any proper wild animal was, inherently wary of the new and the unknown, and that disposition was in the forefront without the support of his pack and the security of his own territory.

She moved toward the water and Skwol rose to his paws and loped away.

Last post unless she pursues him. Thanks for the thread!