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

He watched her with puzzlement in his expression, head slightly tilted. What was she. . . His brow furrowed as she reached out and pulled his forepaw toward her, toward the strange circle. He stared at it for a long while, unsure of where to put his print. She'd put hers there, by a line; he turned his head to look—

I dinna understand any of this, Pygmalion said honestly, shrugging. He faced the girl again, looking grimly amused. If this is just yer long, drawn-oot way of sayin' ye dinna want tae join my pack. . .I get it. Nay offense taken, lass. 

She clearly was on a different level than he was; he doubted at this point that they were even of the same species. But she was deeply fascinating, and Pyg didn't want to go just yet. Do ye talk at all? he asked, a little insensitively, though there was no malice or scorn in his tone, merely ignorant curiosity.