Sequoia Coast With only a paper shield and a wooden sword.

The cold was unbearable, yes, but there was something wickedly alluring about the coast and what it had to offer. The coywolf had trailed behind the strange male for some short time, keeping a good stretch of distance between them. His sharp yellow eyes curiously sought where the stranger could have been wandering, only to find that the unfamiliar dog seemed not to know himself. With a curling smirk, Gluska slunk forward with a quickened pace and yipped for the male ahead of him. The coywolf must have cast a disheveled appearance; russet-tinged fur slathered in brine and salt from the ocean. His limbs ragged from the winter’s chill.

“Are you lost?” the coywolf inquired with a flashing grin. He had grown familiar with the coast in his short time there. Still, the stranger before Gluska did not seem to be searching for companionship. He appeared to be a creature with intent. The trickster knew nothing of his sister’s hand in the distress of the pack wolf. He did not care. However, depending on their conversation, the two males could have found themselves in a peculiar position.