Wheeling Gull Isle I got the woofers in my Jeep

Sockeye wasn't surprised by the shake of the woman's head. It had been fairly clear to the male that his brother was not among the island wolves, and what little hope he'd retained hadn't been enough to change his expression once it was lost. Instead, he gave a grateful wag of his tail at having been answered, and mirrored the woman when she stepped toward him.

She smelled like a big family. Sock named them in his head - Papa, six pups, a few kids, some yearlings, a few adults - and when she was near enough to touch, he rubbed his cheek against her shoulder, catlike and quick. And Sockeye. Tail wagging mischieviously, he sat back on his haunches and regarded her curiously. Everything from her tufted ears to the indeliable black of her coat made her look strange and alien. Like something a fire had eaten up and spat back out.

"This your island?" he asked curiously. It was the bitch with the kids that ran the show, right?