Deepwood Weald the boom, boom, boom of your heart

He watched her, and it seemed it made her watch back for a beat now that he had come into her route. The dark yearling kept to his keen eye, but dipped his head to her greeting. One of his own doesn't make itself fully formed, though he switched his tail slowly enough to say so--only for the most discerning eye; he had too many questions.

Moony? He blinked, and accepted this, glad to have something without having to ask after it. Never had he heard a name like that one, however, even hailing from the pack of moon-mountain wolves--not that he got out much, yet. Antares, he said to break his silence, nose gesturing a touch to himself to say what he needed to say. Where are you going? he asked, considering he had likely interrupted her progress to somewhere, somehow. Still, he could not place any of the scents she wore and he suspects that this is what wants to throw him off.