Deepwood Weald Willst du nur Früchte von ihr, die kann auch die Sterbliche zeugen;

cutting through the weald there came a male, moonlight and bleeding shadows. for a moment, she is frozen, breath caught. but the darkness around his orbits, the shine of his eyes, it is wrong. gaze slips to the younger boy a distance away; he can not be more than a few months old. the honeyed words that slip from her maw fail to alert intuition softened by the kindness of the last few wolves she's met. 

her tail sways once, muzzle dipping in greeting and agreement. gaze moves again to the younger, even as her head cants and ears flick, asking silently of the stranger's intent.