A smile broke out across the silvery female’s face when she caught sight of him, lighting her pale blue eyes, and Wayne was glad to see he hadn’t disturbed her with his greeting. Others daydreamed so deeply that they would recoil when someone approached, which would have been disastrous with the she-wolf up in the tree. He snorted softly at the thought then pricked his ears when she greeted him with a “bonjour,” introducing herself as Ismeme.
When she dropped down from the tree branch, Wayne let out a little sigh of exasperation—noting that she was taller than him. It was only around half a foot difference, but he had always been able to use his size as an advantage on the road. It seemed that Casa di Cavalieri really was a pack of giants.
“Wayne McCoy,” the mongrel greeted, tipping his hat with his free hand as was customary for him. “So you speak French, Isa?” he asked after a moment, just for the sake of conversation. “My mother knew some. She was a wolf; I take after my dad more.” In fact, few knew that there was any wolf in the doggish hybrid. His coat was a bit thicker, and there were some timber-like streaks around his shoulders, but his dog side was definitely dominant.
“You must be new to the pack,” he remarked, feeling oddly conversational; perhaps he was bored to death from being cooped up and needed the socialization for once. “I ain’t seen you before, obviously, and I’ve been in Casa since it was founded.”
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