Sleepy Fox Hollow Must be the way you whisper.

Wylla wasn't exactly looking for company when she found Titmouse just staring into a crack in the mountainside. In fact, she'd paused mid-stride to watch the rear end of him from afar for almost a whole minute, during which he didn't move at all. Sentiment and memory were both powerful things, but not as powerful as being wary, in her opinion. If you didn't keep an eye on your surroundings, you were asking for trouble.

So on quiet paws she swept across the snow, deciding on a whim to prick her ears and throw high her tail. She'd told Mahler she intended to climb the ranks of his pack and that hadn't been a lie, so why not test the waters right here, right now? For all she knew, this guy was brain dead. How else did he stand so perfectly still like that with his head in the mountain's ass crack?

Assuming that she could get close enough without Titmouse noticing, Wylla swung low to nip at his hindquarters, a challenging grumble in her throat.