Sleepy Fox Hollow good luck, that's all i can say.

Stag would have had to have been born without ears to miss the sound of a wolf approaching. He straightened his slackened shoulders, expecting either his mother or some other Diasporan to materialize. Instead, it was a wolf entirely unknown to him. His eyes narrowed critically - who was this wolf, and why were they here?

Glancing from where she had materialized, to his home (which in Stag's eyes was thickly and heavily marked as claimed), Stag looked stupefied. What kind of wolf materializes out of the thin air in the middle of his pack? The boy had never had an experience quite like this, and it left him slack-jawed and ill-prepared to deal with the intrusion smoothly.

Collecting his senses, the boy stood at his full height and arced his tail round his hips as he had often seen his father and mother, or Mahler do.  A certain sense of pride then flooded the boy, and it was like remembering an old but infrequently used skill; slipping seamlessly into what was instinctual territorialism, Stag cut the woman a cold look and then loosened a grumble into the wintry air. "This is my home." He corrected, feeling his hackles bristle along his spine. "I should be the one askin' you that."