Meadowlark Prairie toccato and fugue in d minor

Long before she reached the edge of the woods, a scent—rather, a collection of them—hit her nose and Raven rolled to a stop. A wolf pack lived in the forest. Raven licked her lips, pushing aside her disappointment and then pivoting on a lithe black heel to turn back toward home. As she spun, something caught her eye and she froze, yellow gaze clapping upon a small pewter figure staring in her direction.

She blinked as their eyes met. He looked fairly young. He must belong to the nearby pack, yet he was pretty far beyond its borders. Raven's tongue ran across the seam of her lips again as she pondered what to say or do. She wasn't a socialite by any stretch of the imagination and she didn't have much experience with pups. Was this one even old enough to speak? Should she try to talk to him? What if one of his pack mates showed up and got all protective over him?

Raven stood there in indecision for several beats before deciding to say, "Hello," and offering a gentle smile and wag of her tail. "Are you lost...?"