Greatwater Lake they'll nosh you up

Whim seldom felt any deep-seated attachment to places. The area he'd been raised was nice enough, and he didn't tote around much — if any — emotional baggage from his upbringing. His family was nice enough, the area he'd grown up in was nice enough, he'd had nice enough friends. Still, he'd left home a year or so ago to see what there was to see — when he'd told his father of his desire to leave, he'd looked at Whim with no small amount of knowing, and told him that it was a trait his family seemed to share. The need to move. His grandfather, Whim had been told, traveled all over the place to finally find a home, and even then hadn't quite been able to affix himself to one place.

Whim didn't quite like the idea of that; he had it in his mind to settle at some point, but he never felt anchored. So he'd roamed a bit, sometimes with company, sometimes alone, and stayed with a pack here and there before departing. It wasn't easy for Whim to feel at home among strangers, either; his size paired with his proclivity for silence led to a frequent and common misperception of him as some kind of brute, when it simply wasn't true. Whim had grown up in a family full of happy-go-lucky extraverts who seemed to have storytelling wired into their DNA. Whim often found himself incapable of putting together a full sentence that didn't sound wretched, so he stayed quiet unless he needed to speak, and even then, often took a moment to decide what he was going to say.

When he spotted the other wolf not far off, he eyed her for a moment, but otherwise didn't move. He was new to the area — it was more than a good idea to talk to others who seemed to be local, to get an idea for the social geography in addition to the literal geography, but the idea of small talk was about as appealing to him as pulling his teeth out one by one.

After a few moments, Whim managed to convince himself to his feet, and stood with a yawn. He took his time in approaching the stranger — having no interest in rushing the interaction — and when he finally reached her, he looked down and to the side of her, too uncomfortable to properly smile or something more socially appealing.

"Do you live around here?" Whim said after a moment of uncomfortable silence. Then, "hi." Another pause followed his words, and his lips curled in a somewhat sad approximation of a sheepish smile as he lastly offered, "I meant to say the second one first."