Ankyra Sound five twenty six, nineteen ninety.

Oh. Something was stirred in that wolf. Sorcerer did not miss how he straightened and how the moonlight glint in his eyes changed. The coyote's muscles tightened imperceptibly; a smaller dog's readiness always close to paw.

Friend. The poor fool. He was making all the wrong friends tonight.

The softening of the tension gave Sorcerer room. Room to wonder: did the wolf know the fossil tongue of the Coyotl?

Who sent you? The coyote delighted in the question but resented how little he knew of Cayetano and the situation. There was little for him to sink his teeth into, and so much more for his bite to miss. He weighed the poor odds against what he thought he might have to lose, and then took a seat.

I am afraid I am sworn to secrecy, he answered with a soft sigh, as if remorseful he could not provide his companion more information. Then he ventured, but tell me... who would you have liked? Would you send them a message?