Golden Glade Astronomy will now be conducting stargazing sessions only with blindfolds

Whatever the fur belonged to, it wasn't something Dragomir could remember encountering. It was an uncommon animal in the mountains and that was where the majority of his life was spent. The corner of his lip lifted into a kind of sneer as he drew as much of the scent into his nostrils as he possibly could, committing it to memory, fishing for some recollection that might point to the source... but then a distraction came in the form of Phox.

Dragomir turned and was surprised to find himself face-to-face with a wolf whose fur colour almost perfectly matched the clump on the stick: black but shot through with silver. He didn't think the loose tuft belonged to a wolf, but he'd been wrong before. Phox's limp wasn't missed, but having been injured badly himself when he was younger, Dragomir neither stared nor commented on it. He knew such things did not define a wolf, and knew better than to judge another's merits by the state of their body.

It's not your fur, is it? he assumed.