The Sentinels for the soul is dead that slumbers

Marruz had heard the wolf long before the subtle greeting. He had locked his indigo and Stygian upon the dark serene with a glint of apprehension at the notion. This was, after all, an unfamiliar territory — a place where you didn't just keep your back turned and get away with your flank in tact.

Instead, he angled himself slightly so that the stranger was visible in his peripherals. His ears picked up heavier pawsteps; perhaps a smidgen of timidity as they drew closer (that or soreness). He would have addressed the brute sooner had he not noticed the aloofness of the approach. This was no hostile creature.

But, Marruz was a reticent boy. He just didn't speak first, or hardly ever did. Thus, his only response was to sniff and shift his stance warily. The stars were just taking form, and they visibly captured his primary interest.