Redsand Canyon her flesh held the scent of honeysuckle drenched in battle

He’s confused by this name, all these odd and unknown wolves she mentions. They have him on edge. Her foreboding tone has him on edge. The hairs along his spine vibrate and bristle at the mere thought. He wants blood.

Still somehow he is able to calm down even if it is only a pinch. Her small form must reach up to get him, he even lowers his head further south for her. A small, pink tongue laps at his cheek. The motion filled with an undying need to comfort. It seems she’s trying to comfort him when really she’s the one who needs comforting. He’s not good at that, but hell, he can try. 

So as she soothes his bubbling anger with a raspy, broken voice, he listens intently. Allowing his own miscolored tongue to flick out against her own muzzle boldly. “We will protect you; I will protect you.” He promises in a low octave. His tone suggests death will come to any who pose as a threat to the small shewolf.