Hushed Willows the answer's somewhere deep in it, i'm sorry that you're feeling it

astara had found it took most wolves about three minutes to understand she did not speak. some never understood it at all -- but on average, many simply accepted her silence and moved on.

this wolf, however, seemed fine with filling in her share of words. she was bemused as she looked upon him, an ear cocked to the tumble of accented words that spilled from his darkened maw. if he lived around here, astara wondered if his pack would resent their (eventual) neighbors.

to answer his question - which she understood implicitly - astara canted her muzzle away in the direction she had come. he would not find a recruit in this one -- not that uaine gorsedd had use for her ilk -- but he might find his meeting not entirely fruitless.

astara looked to the male, and then bent down. she drew in the snow a rough circle, then glanced to the sun's position before etching rough lines in each of the four directions of the wind: north, south, west, east. from this crude drawing, astara's claw raked a single, long line to the southeast, coincidentally unknowingly in the same direction as pygmalion's pack. she pressed her paw to the snow below the ling, and when she lifted it, her pawpads were imprinted cleanly into the crisp white surface, one claw-mark lined perfectly with the etching line from before.

she looked from her crude work to the man, wondering if he would be astute enough to understand her rough drawing; the pawpad being where she was going.  for him to follow her back to bearclaw.

then, astara did something that likely would cause pygmalion some disturbance. she reached for his own paw with her slim dark arm, and if he allowed, would drag his paw towards the crude compass as if to say where are you? on the rudimentary diagram she had drawn.