the wisps of the forest

Boone had chosen a particularly poor time to begin traveling through the Teekon Wilds. Dogs were running rampant in a place predominantly wolf—this he was aware of by scent alone—and he looked so much like a dog, it would only be a matter of time before he ran into trouble. He had been hated throughout his youth for his doggish appearance, but he had always proved himself to be better than the purists; if not physically, then mentally at least.

His heavy paws took him deep into a shaded forest area, and he stuck out in the shadows like a dirty ghost. His ears twitched, as he heard the approach of another, and his nose told him it was wolf—male. Boone turned slowly, his bi-gold eyes peering through the dappled light, and into the face of a young loner.

The wolfdog tipped his tall head, pinkish ears pressed forward as he quietly surveyed the stranger. It was a moment before he spoke, in a low Southern rasp: "howdy."