Ankyra Sound wasteland, baby

Time had wittled away at his brain and left him incredibly basic; this was evidenced by his lack of verbal response. His ears twisted as the hooded figure spoke further, clearly hearing them, but showing no understanding of language. There was a slack quality to the woman's posture that was curious to him — inviting him closer, maybe. He took her surprise as a prompt to abruptly lurch closer to her and inspect with probes and sniffs. The scent of salt was already strong in the air — along with pine — but there were little discrepancies all across her. Other wolves, children, dry dust like a cave. 

Whether she welcomed it or not Larus surveyed the jagged topography of her coat; plunged his nose a touch too close for comfort to her groin for more details, huffing and puffing and rounding about her like a curious child rather than the fearful, feral adult he had become. He did not harm her. As he withdrew, he snorted and licked his nose to help clear it of the multifaceted messages she carried upon her body — then yawned, fully disarmed. 

She was older than him. Perhaps a mother to cubs this season — perhaps beyond her prime for such things. But the forest he found was her home and so was the beach below, and as she hadn't chased him away yet, he presumed he was safe enough in the dark of the forest's fringe.