Bearclaw Valley a thing can be true and still be desperate folly

Shortly after depositing his catch into the cache he had created, Tadec drew his salmon-colored tongue swiftly across the dark hairs of his muzzle before he fixed his gaze on the borders – the only ones that could be reached from the outside – and mustered enough courage to venture a patrol. His long limbs allowed for him to close distance quite easily, and it was only a short matter of time before he had arrived at the opening of the pack. The large rock was vacant, but the faint scent of the wolfdog female had been there and seemed to have been a prominent piece of the stone. Tadec sniffed about it for a few seconds before losing his interest and turning back to the mouth of the valley. It was there that he sighted a sullen and pale figure – one that was not familiar to him – spread out beyond their claim.
 
The thief did not anticipate that he would be fit for a fight, if one were to happen, but he approached her with careful steps nonetheless and announced his presence with a high yip. “What doing, strange wolf?” he asked her with an inspecting, narrowed brow. He was not certain if she belonged to their pack, or if she was waiting for someone to aid her in joining. Tadec knew that he was not suited to accept members, but he was more bothered that she appeared so dismal. Her frame appeared to have taken a terrible toll, and while it made the spindly coywolf wary, it also inspired him to step a few feet closer to her to examine the state of her being.