Ankyra Sound I ain't ever had a type, having a type takes two

There were few reasons for the wolf to abandon the open sky of the sea shore to lurk beneath a forest canopy, but wicked weather was one of them. Through the worst of lancing ice-rain and fur-stripping wind he had sheltered among the great trees, tucked among their roots with his tail covering his nose. Come the following day, when the weather was fairer, a chance at meat kept him in the timber still.

Successful at taking down a rabbit, Skookumchuck was still intermittently pawing at his mouth and scrubbing his snout along the dirt when a sweep of his eyes caught the silhouette of another wolf stood on the cliff's edge. He angled himself into her scent cone and breathed her in as he drew closer; hooked and reeled by his curiosity and an intrinsic desire for companionship. It had been moons since last he had been in the company of his own.

Hello, he called out, his voice deep and raspy. There was a slight sway to his tail as it hung behind him, and a tentative twisting of his ears. From the side of his mouth protruded a thin strip of hide replete with fur; caught between his molars, it was the source of the discomfort that drove him to raise a paw to his face again a moment after he said 'hello'.