Overture Downs I can hold my own hand

As the two of them came closer to one another, Shea began to notice that the darker parts of her countenance – which appeared to be simple markings from afar – were actually a bevy of scars, licked like paint strokes across a blank canvas. But rather than being greeted by some shy, bitten creature, as one might expect from a survivor of such trauma(s), he was instead met with a cheerful, upfront wolf, not self-conscious in the least.

It reminded him a bit of himself.

Aye, he answered, looking somewhat proud. Love tae range. Been wanderin’ aboot soon as Ah could feed maself. Shea chuckled. Name’s Shea. This yer neck o’ tha woods?