we do not speak your language, see

A pointed nose was canted towards the dirt. Her long face probed at piles of soil, surfacing with grains still lingering upon the pale whiskers on her snout. Bayou searched as she moved, listless and keen, from place to place.

Patches of strong, sharp urine told her all she needed - that this land was harbouring wolves; and wolves always needed to eat.

Bayou reached with her paws, grasping at the dry and craggy earth, stumbling over the terrain which was familiar, but wholly new. She did not pick up the scent of another because her own scent, the odious mixture of vulpes and old blood, was so daunting.

The stranger emerged in her peripheral. A shifting mass of stone and darkness, tracking alongside Bayou's meagre silhouette. Her jaws parted but not to speak, not even to call out - but to allow the light to catch upon her yellow molars, that she exuberantly exposed.

A threat? Maybe. The girl knew she was not an intimidating beast. It was more of a sneer, which she shared in her continued invasion of these otherlands.

In minutes she could find a cache; that was all she was after. A hint, a tell, something that she could keep in mind for a second pass when a guard was not so present.