Phoenix Maplewood When the buzzards get loud

indra eyed the stranger mistrustfully -- despite the fact he seemed as startled as she by their sudden encounter. her morose thoughts were abated temporarily as she struggled to identify where she had seen him before. his golden mask was distinctive - at least to her - and a deep line furrowed down her russet brow as she struggled to remember.

the mute wolf -- he had been the stranger to intercept her. indra looked up from the ground, wondering if he was a friend of the silent cur that hounded bearclaw's borders. despite every aspect of him being disarming, indra was relatively guarded as she assessed his scent for any sign of allegiance. finding none, she settled somewhat, though the fur along her neck was still slightly bristled.

she looked about them with a frown, unsure of how to ease into conversation. she had been defensive for so long -- and what if he turned out to be like skwol, or that patchwork monster outside of blackfeather? what if he was that slavering wench's friend?

no amount of internal coaxing seemed to loosen her tongue, so instead she simply offered a roll of her shoulders and looked away.