Barrow Fields and drawing lines around my body to recall my place

One canine was much the same as the other in Renard's opinion, though it was nice to run into one, occasionally, who was also clearly part dog. They had not had much occasion to run into anyone who was difficult about it, but their father had always, ah, kept an iron grip when it came to that sort of thing. Their mentor had shit-talked it more than once, but Renard suspected that was just a motivational thing. No ill will. They had other things to worry about when he was around, like not being knocked on their ass.

Which was to say. Not a big deal to them. But even as Renard gave their name they saw the astonishment on the other wolfdog's face so it was clearly a big deal to someone.

"Further north. Up where it's mostly ice and pine trees." And spring certainly wasn't this warm. "If you're looking for specifics, I'm afraid I don't have much to offer, beyond hearing it called Ivvavik."

The other question was easier. "Father. He looks similar to you, actually." Renard skimmed their eyes over the man's coat again. "None of us got the stripes, though." They clicked their tongue. "A shame. I always thought they were nice."