Ghost Lion Crag Where cats and fears do tread

Her voice was melodious and beautiful, a perfect match for her delicate features.
He cleared the painful knot in his throat and replied sternly:  "No."  There were many dangers that could lurk in her den, but the white wolf was not one of them.

He couldn't shake the restless feeling, fed by all the questions in his mind: not long ago he had seen her in a forest, an environment much friendlier to a wolf of her age than the base of these treacherous mountains, reeking with cougar piss. Finding an old loner like him wandering around laughing at death was one thing; finding such a young, soft she-wolf was quite another. She seemed out of place.

He crouched down and slowly approached the small wolf, still maintaining a reasonable distance.
"How did you get here?" Amaguq asked. She didn't seem lost in the slightest: on the contrary, she seemed quite independent, and as far as he could see and smell, he acknowledged that he was in the presence of a small survivalist.