Shadewood Tight rope

The skewbald girl emerged from her trip, she still was yet to remove the mud from her fur and looked rather the mess. Her plan was to take a bath in the pools at the Balconi Escapade; but that thought was quickly redundant. Before her, stood a male who looked rather like the figure she'd spied on the Isle. Apple was talking to him, so naturally, her tail waved in greeting to the dame, but she was uncertain about the male. The youth chuffed to Apple, and to make herself known to the silver figure.

She'd caught the end of his question, blackthorn. Who the heck was Finley? 
The muddied girl moved around the stranger, her tail raised above her hips to show this was her domain, her family, and she felt every right to be here and to question the newcomer. He smelt strongly of a pack; she'd smelt it before. Recently. He was a member of the nearby pack. 

The realisation caused the normally placid girl's hairs to prickle as she turned to face him.

"Who are you and what do you want here?"  There was none of her usually, soft-spoken or over-joyed tone. Just a coldness she'd used when greeting unwanted visitors -- or hellions that had no place in her world.