Tuktu Weir Wearing a warning sign

A ridge of shaggy fur stiffened along his shoulders, coaxed by fear. The woman held power over him, and should she regard him as a threat to her pack, he was in trouble. Lovecraft knew this in his very bones. But the moment of dread passed, alleviated when she expressed that she was not offended by his presence. He would have to keep his guard up, but as of now the level of threat was low.

She seemed more curious about him than anything else. Yet her question had the quiet wolf stymeid. To talk about his name with honesty was to divulge a darkness that he never wanted to speak of. Fortunately, she asked specifically about where he had come from, and not about his name, giving him a way to actively ignore the thoughts of the past threatening to surface themselves. The woman spoke in a way that made him believe she might think his name connected to where he came from; he was eager to change the course of her inquiry.

East of here, he murmured finally, just as the pause had begun to become uncomfortable. Beyond the great mountain range, where it's dryer, and colder. In his mind's eye he saw the mountains, jutting from the earth like a the jagged spine of a fossil. It was a year ago that he had begun his lone wandering, and during the summer he had found the mountain pass that had ferried him west, towards the sea.

Can you tell me about your pack? Kingslend, yea? he asked in his soft, mild manner.