Mudminnow River nobody blames you

He cannot tell if she is quaking from this distance, but likes the idea all the same. It could've been from the cold and that would've appealed to him; it could've been from his presence, and that was even better. But it was equally likely he was imagining it — wishing for it, the way any boy wishes a girl would tremble for them. Its a passing fancy. Tulimaq feels her eyes on him still, hears her striding closer, and glances at her.

She's not the first red-cast wolf he's seen, but her autumnal coat is certainly fitting for the season. Its curious to him that she hang back; she seems healthy even if she's a bit thin, and is physically impressive to him (for a woman). His ears shift at her question. My name is Tulimaq. Who are you?