Redhawk Caldera Underdog

Phox was a bit spooked by the approach of the other wolf, but he did his best to keep his composure. He had not expected to run into anybody else here now that his family had left. That was a silly notion, now that he thought about it, but he had never been a particularly bright wolf to begin with. He wondered if his mother and father would have approved of him, but that was a question he had asked himself since he learned of them, and it was impossible for him to know the answer. They had gone out of this world, and he had come into it.

He rolled over onto his side, then to his feet, and waved his tail. Perhaps he could turn over a new leaf. With the rest of his family gone (dead?), there wasn't anything tying him to the caldera. He looked the other wolf over, noting that he was smaller and more angular than most wolves Phox had met. He didn't make the connection that the sharper features were from the coyote in the strangers blood.

Considering the fellow had walked up to him, Phox allowed him to make the first move. He was equally ready to flee or make conversation.