Grouse Thicket We are not pissing on the corpse of Joan Rivers.

His tail waved when he realized that she remembered his name, though he did feel somewhat ashamed when he realized that he'd never learned his. He moved forward, tail waving, when he felt that there was at least somewhat of a comraderie established between the two that sparkled in her eyes. She was happy to see him- and looked relieved to have been found by someone familiar. As far as he could tell, she was alone- and while she didn't bear any marks to say that she'd been tangled up with anyone hostile, she did look more thin than she ought to be...This was summer- and there was plenty of game afoot. There was no reason for even a lone carnivore to be starving on their own at this time of year...Of course, providing that that carnivore had been raised in the wild, and taught how to kill and consume from a very young age. 

"Came back?" He asked, curiously. This wasn't where he'd seen her last, so it wasn't as though they were meeting, again, in the same place as last time. But perhaps she justhad a bad sense of direction...She wasn't the first one he'd met who had a poor sense of direction. His packmate Chanel was a scout- and even she got lost and wandered off from time to time. He shook his head and edged a bit closer, to chuff quietly and touch his nose to her cheek in a greeting, bewildered still by the softness of her fur...Though she looked a bit more dusty now, than she had the last time he'd seen her. "Are you alright? You look sort of..." He said, and his ears tilted back. "I mean, I don't mean to say you don't look good," He said, sheepishly correcting his tone, "But...You, uh...I get the feeling you're a bit clumsy sometimes, maybe?" He asked, with a tentative smile. This was, after all, only the second time he'd met her- and both times she'd taken a tumble.