art by crypsis
If he had a hope of leaving, it vanished when the skinny wolf hailed him. Anatole recalled the man and approached slowly, frowning all the while, and looked between the pair silently. The noise of the drum and speaking were muddled, for a moment, and as quickly gone. He was surprised by the pelt on the female, and wondered if she had a parent with dog blood. Unsure if this was an appropriate question to ask, he elected not to and looked at the two musicians curiously.
“New, huh?” He echoed, and settled on the ground. He kept his legs hunched, as if he might need to spring up at any moment, and with his arms between them looked rather like an oversized child. The broad length of his shoulders and the still-sulking face suggested that this was halfway true. His hair, shaggy and true black, flopped with a jerk of the head towards the drum. “Do you know how to play? I have before, once,” he added, and once again fell silent. His uncertainty suggested that this route might be easier than to say too much and come off looking foolish.
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