Firefly Glen moonlight danced with the silhouettes

"Strange ones?" he asked, his ears swiveling back as he paused to think about what might make a wolf strange. Stranger than he? Than she? The bounty hunter felt that they existed already at two ends of a wide spectrum, and he could not imagine where a strange wolf might fall. 

But they located the pretty stones. Catamaran was duly impressed, though he could not imagine what an amulet might be. Knowing what he did of her father, he assumed it must be medicine — but, leaning close to take a good sniff, he determined that the stones were static. Inert. Not even good for soaking up poisons that a wolf might ingest. His expression remained clear of doubt, but he did offer a contemplative hum in response.

"My grandmother took us to a strange marketplace when we were young," he said, nosing through the dirt to see if he could uncover more precious stones. "There was a pack of coyotes there — all related. Brothers and sisters, children and grandchildren. They were selling rintailed cats they raised in the desert. My sisters pleaded for one, and finally, my grandmother traded three of our largest pearls for a little female, about three months old. They named it Masky."