Barrow Fields und sahn sich nur noch zuweilen im Traum;

Her eyes travel over him, inevitably on his face. 
He braces himself for the reaction, the scream- after all, he looked a bit like some poor lost soul himself. Give him a stereotypical white pelt and he would be the thing of someone's nightmares. 
Were he a different wolf he probably would use the fear and disgust to his advantage- but as it was, He simply lowered his head a bit in a futile attempt to conceal what Clarence had done. 
The Shewolf doesn't speak, but looks at him, expectantly, and he finds himself slipping into a comfortable silence, lowering his haunches to the ground. 
There is a stillness here, cold and inviting. "When I was a pup...my mother told me stories of places like this." He speaks again after several minutes. "Shadowy places that belonged to the dead, and to Wolfbane." Sure enough, the telltale elegant blue flowers dotted the landscape. It was fitting for a wolf that had himself half convinced he was a demon to wind up in a place like this. "Memory, and you?" He introduces himself, hoping his unusual name isn't misunderstood.