Phoenix Maplewood When the buzzards get loud

Larus did not have a good memory when it came to faces. He wasn't so great with scents either, at least where wolves were concerned. He could tell the basics if he tried: the gender, the general age, the level of health. Having never spent much time within a pack in his lifetime, the boy had become a man with finite skills; remembering who he'd seen, what he'd been through, it was often too difficult for him. Being a loner had meant developing a different skill - compartmentalization. Where it had been a great asset before, as a pack wolf now, he found his memory just didn't cut it. He could not turn off this gift that circumstance had granted him.

So when he had woken up properly, and the flailing puffs of his fur had settled, he was ultimately just as surprised as the girl when he turned to see her skittering backwards. He did not recall meeting her at any point previous; then again, she had grown since then, and lost a piece of herself too. He stared at her like a deer in the headlights for a split second before bowing his head and sheepishly attempting to relax the situation: S-sorry! I -- I didn't know you were there. You spooked me too.