Kuwanyauma became very quickly aware of a young wolf in her presence. Growing up in a tribe where hunting and fighting and tracking were ingrained into pups from a very young age, perhaps even more so than non-tribal packs, she was exceptionally good at picking up scents. She did not alert the other to the fact that she knew he was there. He might run off if she did so and she wanted a chance to study him, even if she did not raise her eyes to look at him.
Slowly, she opened her mouth a little. Most mammals had a scent gland on the roof of their mouth that allowed them to intake a scent and analyze it quicker than with nose alone. As the scent drifted around her mouth, she had an urge to cough. She could immediately smell the infection, however small it was. She couldn’t tell what kind of infection, but she knew it was there. She could smell the salt of the ocean on him, and the telltale scent of a pack — for he had many other wolf smells on him that deviated from his own.
The scent inspection over, she ever-so-slowly lifted her head and locked her gaze onto him, golden-brown eyes staring at him with an intensity that she did not realize she had. She studied him intently, noting the wind-swept fur and the dirty-cream-colored coat and the bright eyes. The infection lay across his right eye. It looked like nothing more than a scrape, but it did not look to be healing well. She decided to keep her distance, not wanting to catch whatever he might have.
She gave a short nod in greeting and then looked away from him at nothing in particular, waiting for any kind of response.