Luneshale Pass You say you're the king

A woman approaches, her tone sparking some interest in Dyone. Her head turns to meet the eyes of the stranger. Smaller than herself, though most wolves are, but pretty too. A part of her wonders if they may be cut from the same thread of mischief.

You speak with confidence, as though you believe we are friends. She turns now, no rush in her steps. Charming, but rather dangerous wouldn't you say? For all this woman knew, Dyone could have lunged the moment she was done speaking. But she supposed that it was the other way around, too. If no risks were taken, how were wolves ever supposed to meet each other?

There is no hesitation as she closes the distance between them, satisfaction in her eyes as she towers over the other. My name is Dyone. Tell me yours. More of a demand then a request.