Sheepeater Cliff Don't shoot love, baby

It would be hard for the small, compact she-wolf to not respond in a snarling, negative way to the black canine's obvious stand-offish mood. Ivev had met a range of savory to sour characters, and she was struggling to take them in stride. It had been a long time since the soft-spoken naturalist had time to lay and rest. Her paws were begging for a cool creek to soak in or a smooth stone to rub against worn callouses.

Ivev lifted her head, calculating the best way to approach and deal with the stranger. She stood in a low meadow that opened up to the mountain wall and the beginning of the trees that sheltered the pack's camp. It would be difficult to ignore and skirt the green-eyed wolf's presence. She seemed the type to lock onto something, sink her teeth in... shake until her target was reduced to shreds.

No. Just heading home, the white wolf responded as her legs stepped closer, still against the swaying golden grass. Her nostrils flooded and the naturalist inclined her head. The black female had the scent of many others on her, a sure sign of a pack wolf. Yet the territory was open and free of scent marks. Are you lost?