Otter Creek Konk-la-ree

Her guest seemed somewhat preoccupied for a moment, and Kittiwake took that delay to take in the appearance of the strange male in that interlude. His facial patterning was unusual but not altogether displeasing, and the darkness seemed unable to completely mask the brightness of his emerald eyes. He held himself rather stately considering the circumstances, and that they were on neutral ground; Kittiwake wondered if he was perhaps a leader of one of the packs she had skirted before she had crossed through the mountains. She swivelled her ears forward and rose to her full height, but kept her tail loose and neutral.

Kittiwake was intrigued by the formal manner in which he introduced himself and greeted her, and she nodded her chin in acknowledgment, curious but unperturbed by the courteousness. “Pleased to meet you, Shahzada. Kittiwake Ross.” She thought that her name sounded substantially less exotic than his own, especially without the fancy-sounding homeland tacked on to it. His second question puzzled her into a brief pause, and she furrowed her pearly brows. It was rather odd of him to refer to a pack as “who,” as if it were an individual entity, but she was unable to interpret it in any other manner. “The wilds, I suppose you could say.”