The bird spotted him first, moving in a manner less befitting for a crow and more for a starling or yearling sparrow. It was almost entertaining, in a way, and Anatole was amused by the behavior. The she wolf took notice of him then, and he approached her lowered form with ease. Four legged as he was, her position was yet above him—but he carried himself with the pride of rank and belonging, for these were his lands and thus put him in a position to behave as such.
He kept a safe distance from her, but extended his head to sniff and take in the scent of the woman. She was a loner, of this he was certain, and the owner of the nearby horse. The bird he paid little attention to, used to his mother’s old Guide and the behavior of that crow. Satisfied she was not an envoy of a pack, he reclined slightly. “You are close to the borders of AniWaya,” he announced, green eyes watching her face carefully. “What business do you have here?” Certainly if she was not from a pack he could discern this, but he had not encountered newcomers since his return—the war had frightened most off, he assumed.
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