Whitebark Stream Hate is a fine antidote for fear.

He heard the approach of another, though the fog made it hard for him to see clearly. When at last a dark stranger materialised with a friendly chuff, Artyom lifted his warm gaze to better study her. Taking note of slim shoulders and sharp features, he was quick to decipher that her bloodline was not entirely wolf. There was something doggish about the angles of her face and, even more oddly, her pelage was made of silken obsidian waves.

A curious thing, though despite her differences he would treat her no differently. To the ebony hybrid he pricks his ears forward, attentive, and shot her a kind smile. "Good morning to you," he announced, content to welcome her into his space should she choose to investigate a new comrade.