Of course he hasn't. Wolves are good at hiding, and she thinks it's rather telling that no two-leggers came running when he started shouting. But she would have heard if there was another two-legger hollering about wolves, so in that sense, he's right enough. Her sides heave in a sigh of mingled frustration and disappointment.
I don't know, she says. Maybe it'd be better if my Pack wasn't here. This is a terrible place for wolves, after all. Better to lose one than a whole Pack, with pups and all.
She gives herself a brisk little shake, as if to rid herself of such unpleasant thoughts. It's probably only a matter of time before some two-legger tries to kill her, but this one doesn't seem inclined to. She studies him for a few moments, the more perplexed the longer she looks.
What are you wearing? Nightclothes? Why would he be wearing those? And how, for that matter, would she even know that's the sort of thing two-leggers normally sleep in? Wolves might run into hunters, or shepherds, or other folk dressed for traveling; they wouldn't run into folk who'd just rolled out of bed.
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I don't know, she says. Maybe it'd be better if my Pack wasn't here. This is a terrible place for wolves, after all. Better to lose one than a whole Pack, with pups and all.
She gives herself a brisk little shake, as if to rid herself of such unpleasant thoughts. It's probably only a matter of time before some two-legger tries to kill her, but this one doesn't seem inclined to. She studies him for a few moments, the more perplexed the longer she looks.
What are you wearing? Nightclothes? Why would he be wearing those? And how, for that matter, would she even know that's the sort of thing two-leggers normally sleep in? Wolves might run into hunters, or shepherds, or other folk dressed for traveling; they wouldn't run into folk who'd just rolled out of bed.
What sort of wolf is she?