Meadowlark Prairie outta the woodwork

A whitewater rush of words came spilling forth from the grey wolf's mouth, and Dune had trouble keeping up. This was only exasperated by her accent, which made her even more difficult to understand. The only bit he really caught was her question, so he responded in his oh-so-typical manner. "Dune." It was the name he had been given. No more, no less. Her direct eye contact made him visibly uncomfortable, and he averted his own eyes. It did not match the rest of her body language, which was non-threatening. Perhaps she was ill, or she was not right in the head.