Lion Head Mesa Til the break o' dawn

Fallen's own gaze rested over the approaching wolf. They looked... rather similar, and although silent, his head was full of questions that would go unasked and unanswered. ... Sand... Keeper? He thought to name this one, how he padded protectively over his territory. Sand Keeper, he'd call this new one. Some wolves were far easier to name than others; some needed one thought, others needed two or three. Fallen Sun's eyes were sharp.

But now he saw the young black wolf again, and a new name floated to his mind that he thought suited her, his own gaze observant and largely appearing nonchalant. After all, he had no idea what was being discussed, and words fell on unknowing ears. It was his greatest curse.

Little Lightning Bird. 

A raven-black little one, energy coursing through her. Would she give him a better noise to call her?