Honeyed Pasture inside, he was longing for something to be a part of

A wolf of browns and golds, creams and whites, materialized seemingly out of nowhere, and he drew to a sudden halt, waiting for her to speak, his heart pounding. You be needin' help, yes? Phocion nodded frantically, the fur along his spine prickling as he responded, "Yes. I'm looking for a friend of mine. Cortland. Golden pelt, silver eyes. Have you seen him?"

The woman's scent was vaguely familiar to him--at least, the origin of it was. Salt, much like what had clung to Ava's pelt. They were close enough to the sea that he could faintly taste the different air on his tongue, but this wolf was a true coastal wolf, one who dwelled there rather than a mere visitor. If Cortland had gone to the sea, perhaps he'd run into this woman.