Blackfoot Forest faith ain't no privilege

The way the strangers interacted made it clear that neither of them knew the other. Wake looked between them both in mild interest, lifting his nose to inspect what he could of their scents at his distance. There seemed nothing of note about the male, whose name he had missed, but the other wolf carried with her a trace of the Bearclaws.

I belong here, came his nonchalant reply to the self-righteous interrogation. As if these woods belonged to her alone.

You are from Bearclaw Valley, he went on, tail wagging slowly as he openly studied the wintergrey, her sunflower eyes glimmering speculatively towards him. I am your neighbor, Winter’s Wake. The relationship between himself and the bruin-wolves was tenuous at best, perhaps even undecided, but he was not unknown to them.

He looked to the stout, mountainous wolf, who was even taller than Wake had thought from afar. He admired the silverstorm also, appreciating what he saw and remaining calmly interested, as he was with most wolves who looked capable of holding their own. Are you also from the area? he asked the loner, using this as both a way to sate his curiosity and inform the wary woman that they were not cohorts.