Sunset Valley A Walk Through the Woods

Tahoe was unalarmed by the foreigner's arrival. The delicate sound of their footfalls was sufficient for him to presume their intent. After all, he had been careful not to trespass on pack lands. If the wolf had desired to spar, they would've seized their opportunity for an ambush. Clearly, some godawful force had inspired this lupine to interact with him. The brute, unbothered, finished his drink. His tongue flickered over his maw as he soberly lifted his skull, examining the stranger through his disconsolate gaze. They fashioned a pelt reminiscent of a stormy day, paired with eyes that were pools of the afternoon sky. Tahoe was never one to be concerned with looks, he refused to believe in such a vain construct. Then again, perhaps it was because he was merely a rudimentary fellow himself. The stranger spoke, surmising about his rough travels. They addressed him with a term belonging to a foreign tongue, based on their tone, he insinuated it to be a compliment. A light scoff escaped him. Rough day, rougher terrain. Nothing out of the ordinary. He grumbled vaguely, flecks of previously entangled vegetation going airborne as he gave his pelage a hasty shake.