[/html]She had met foreigners before. Creatures from distant shores and lands of human and canine lore alike. Many were wolves, but sometimes, they were smaller in size and stature, like the fellow before her now, and with a way about them that was odd and exotic. She had heard stories of Europe and their villages of wolves, all civilized with their horses and houses and clothes of one sort or another -- this was the lifestyle that Thornloe had imitated to an extent, but they had neither the population nor the resources to recreate the splendor told of in stories brought back from overseas.
There were other regions in the land across the ocean. Africa, Asia, or sometimes it was just the East. She was no expert, but the non-European lands seemed the ones with the non-wolves. Jackals, were they called? It had been some time since she had last encountered one, and that one too, had had a heavy accent, without many English words known to her. She had been older and frail, travel weary and quiet, and Cassandra had not learned much from her. Their ways and customs were a mystery to her, much less their language, if there was even a tongue as common as English was on her own continent.
The pallid woman held her hands up, pink palms facing outward. "Nothing," she said quietly. "I'm only passing through..." She smiled and feigned embarrassment. "Though if you've the mind to share, I would not turn down a meal..." And who would? She had pride in her skills and her self-reliance, but there was no shame in taking what was freely given, or even in taking what could be taken.
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