Haunted Wood Run Me Like a Racehorse

Bronco froze when he was addressed- and it took him a moment to realize that perhaps he too hadn't been spotted. He squinted and gazed through the shadowy forest, but with the intermittent beam of sunlight and spattering of shrubbery, he found it difficult to pick out a wolf against the dark browns of the trees and fading greens of the leaves. He thought he saw a flicker of movement in the light to his left, and so he drew forward a few paces until he could see only a shard of the wolf's visage, lit by a streak of light while the rest of him was cloaked in darkness. Regardless, there was a stern tone to his voice, and a steady readiness to his gaze that cued Bronco to bow his head in a respectful greeting. 

"Bronco Blackthorn, of Moonspear," He responded dutifully. "I'm sorry if I disturbed you- I must've gotten distracted by the scent of deer," He apologized earnestly, humbly and somewhat sheepishly offering a gentle wag of his tail to show his submission as it hung at his hocks.