His artwork was indeed truly beautiful, and pale pink eyes took in all aspects of the face reflected on the worn building. Mars was a musician, and she herself had minute skill in the department of tangible artwork, so she was glad to see the skills offered in the young male who had painted the piece. Her curiosity was natural, she supposed — it was rare to see another wolf in any of the art she had found back home. The artist explained the identity of the face in the paint: his sister. She remained fixed upon it until his voice expressed her death, and then she turned to gaze at him. Sympathy would have found its way into her face, if she had been capable of feeling it. "'m sorry to hear that, ch'know? But it's good ya remember what she looks like, mi querido." And it was, oh it was.
Her assumption was correct, and this young man — now known to her as Micah — was new to the pack and without acquaintances. She let out a laugh and maintained a smile. "You know me now, don't cha? Bet you'll make friends real fast, Micah. Kids always do." He wasn't really a kid, certainly not in the normal sense of a puppy, but she wanted to comfort the anxiety she sensed in him. There was no reason to feel nervous with her; she was friendly, and enjoyed conversation, even if it meant invading the space of another to get it.
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