Whitefish River You got to make me

Belharra was many things, but she wasn't a backbiter. Bemused to see her adversary so unenthused by her presence, Belharra answered his turned back by sitting carefully in the snow. 

She wasn't expecting a grand ceremony, but she expected a bit more than just a flat growl and turning away. Where had his spark gone, his joie de vivre? He looked like a lost boy, not the ornery wolf she had come to know. 

Come off it, Belharra responded, sweeping her gaze to the wolf with a bit of shrewdness. She was ready to run if he turned around all snappy-like, but she was awful curious for what had gotten him in such dreadful spirits. Ye've never been interested, fars I can tell. So today's just more o' the same. Wots got your tail? Maybe I can help.