The optime timber wolf turned around, white-masked face smiling as he returned the greeting. He dangled his paws into the water and commented on the day, and Wayne grunted in agreement. He tilted his square muzzle back to look at the sky as well. He wasn’t very artistic or romantic, not one to gush over the palette of hues painted among the swirls of cloud and sunlight, but he agreed that the day was lovely in the ways that mattered to him—the breezes, the sun on his dusty coat combating the chill, the birdsong around them.
“Mighty fine day,” the wolfdog murmured in agreement. Water dripping from his sturdy body, he took a seat and looked the loner over, wondering what else to say. God, Dixie-May was so much better at small talk than he was. Though he was sure he’d be even less sociable if she were here chatting with this fellow.
“Other ’n enjoying a day like this, what brings you out here?” he asked in his gruff drawl. He hadn’t seen this wolf before, though the same went for many of the individuals in Nova Scotia. “You don’t smell like a pack—you live alone?”
.waywa2 b {font-weight:bold; color:#e1d7b8; letter-spacing:1px; text-shadow: 0.1em 0.1em 0.2em #61501d; }
.waywa2 p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 16px; margin:0px;}
.waywa2 {margin:0 auto; width:450px; background-color:#c8ba99; background-image:url(http://i.imgur.com/S5Qbw.png); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #0b052c; padding: 253px 0px 7px 0px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#867555; text-shadow: 0.1em 0.1em 0.2em #; letter-spacing:.6px; word-spacing:.9x; line-height:13.3px; text-align:justify;}</style>
[/html]