Stone Circle I slithered here from Eden

A faint smile graced the delicate features of the little wolf. Gratitude emanated from the depths of the gentle, sage eyes, their constant restlessness settling for a moment upon hazel irises to offer a silent thanks.

My name is Moss, ma'am, like the fluffy stuff that grows on the ground. They rose slowly from the scattered leaves, their movements careful, albeit marked by a certain clumsiness as he sought to alleviate the pressure on his hind leg. 

He paced forward, gaze returning to the woman, attempting to read her. One lithe paw hovered over the boundary, awaiting a secondary confirmation that it was alright to cross.

Once that unspoken agreement was confirmed, he would venture tentatively into the pack's territory before pausing. Moss would take the lead or, at the very least, be as forward as possible without risking getting lost. It was a sign of trust, an act of faith, as they aimed to ensure they remained within the woman's watchful gaze.