Duskfire Glacier one minute of everything at once

The bristling of hackles sets his nerves alight — but the stranger is injured, and that offers some small reassurance. Garland is at least certain he could outrun him in this state. He swallows as the dark-furred wolf approaches, silent for a moment while he considers his response to the greeting that follows. It always takes him a second to remember how this particular language works. He wishes his native tongue was more common. I don't smell a pack here, He finally says, tone questioning, feeling strange about his own heavy accent. Is this... Duskfire Glacier — is it hunting grounds for your pack? That would explain the lack of diversity in the scents forming the borders.