Dawn Treader Valley Keep Going

People. Foreigners, barbarians, in his claim;
The creek cuts the valley in half, and he had been up to his elbows in it when he felt the thunder of paws against the ground, the smell of strangers. Wolven. Two of them; were they here together? Were they related to that strange girl Andromache had dragged in?
Instinctively, he rolls up to the shore with a shake of oilslick fur. His head tips in a call: I am here, this is my land. Not a challenge, nor a threat; but not a welcome either. They may come to him if they wish.