Fox's Glade wendigo

The beige girl remarked that his father's moniker was strange, but Tadec did not stir at the sound of it. He had never been fond of any piece of the man, let alone his calling. The stranger then proceeded to claim that the glade was not an appropriate place to hunt for wolves, but rather foxes. The thief tilted his head just so and blinked slowly at her. “But you are here,” he counterpointed in a confused tone. A fox in disguise, he thought with a modicum of interest, watching her frame for any signs that she clutched a secret shape beneath her tan hide. If that were to be his argument, he was there too, and shared no blood with the sneaky little reddish creatures of the brambles.

Quick to change the subject, the unnamed woman shed light on her own calling and then inquired his own. She had mentioned that she belonged to the pack nearby and he darted his gaze in the direction she referenced with a single swiveling ear. The hybrid flicked his tongue across his nose and dipped his muzzle only just before fixing her with a molten stare once more. “Laurel,” he tested her name and a ghostly little smile lingered on the corners of his lips. “I am called Tadec.”