Blackfoot Forest the woods are lonely, dark, and deep

Were she not intrigued by him a little, she might have left as soon as he spoke. Perhaps it was her impending heat that wanted to keep him close, or perhaps her desire to expand in general. Nothing, she answers in earnest, then, her tone cool. It was true, nothing had brought her out this far.

Tonravik continued to move in his direction, slowly but surely. Her eyes did not leave him, watching for any signs even still of irateness or aggression. She sought to smell him, of course; this was her norm. See where he had been, where he might return (pack wolf, lone wolf?), age. There was nothing to him that might insist to her he had a story to tell, though then again, if Tonravik saw herself she would think much the same and walk away. Tonravik was not perceptive that way.