Grouse Thicket Of Pale Morning's Light...

The young wolf scanned the elder one's movement, sniffing him cautiously from where he stood, and finding him appearing friendly, despite the words that almost sounded like he thought lesser of him. A sigh of relief escaped his throat as his bushed fur lay flat, and his thoughts calmed down somewhat. Hviske had not necessarily wanted to encounter another wolf so soon, but it was too late to change that plan and he'd have to think of another.

Watch his movement, then, he thought, what little his natal pack had taught him coming into his mind as he remembered his mother's gentle words. But... he doesn't appear hostile...

His own tail wagged, albeit halfheartedly. Perhaps he had spent far too much time being wary of every encounter. He could smell the wolf's scent heavily mixed with that of others. This was a pack's land, or at least, that was a pack wolf and not a fellow wanderer.

I... suppose I am lost. he replied. His voice was soft and low, youth still clear in his words.