Great Bear Wilderness I can feel your butterflies

Where Ptarmigan came from, it was polite to engage others in conversation. Unfortunately, being the only cub of her litter and being born to inexperienced parents, she hadn't quite refined the rough edges of herself, and being a vagabond had hardly cured her of crude behaviours. There was an occasional yearning for company, but a lot of the time, the Endore assumed others wanted something from her. She was a lone wolf, and in her experience, pack wolves wanted little and less to do with her.

It seemed that Bragi was more forgiving than many pack wolves, for he seemed to want nothing more than company. Perhaps she ought to have been flattered and thanked him with a fluttery, oh, sir, you wish to speak to little old me, but Ptarmigan simply said, “all right then.” The bee that scurried past him on the air waves earned a visible flinch from the Endore, who sidestepped rapidly in a circle around him until she was as far away from the bee (which was long gone) as possible.

“I'm famished,” she joked, not grasping from Bragi's accent that he might not be 100% an English-speaking wolf and might actually assume that was her real name. “You live here?” Boy, wouldn't it piss off someone if she had waltzed right into his pack's territory?