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The raccoon was now only a vague movement in her peripheral vision, and she ignored him as best as she could, focusing on the black wolf with the funny red swirls on her side. There was no intent there to injure anyone, or try to; Tal had a big mouth and a confident attitude, but nothing all that substantial to back it up. She was small, coyote-like, all she had on her side was the fighting spirit she’d probably inherited from one side of the family or another. Ears pricked forward, she listened intently as the wolf explained herself. At the mention of Anselm, Tal relaxed slightly, even if only out of curiosity.
”Okay,” she replied idly, blinking at the wolf. Of course there were wolves in the family, she had it in her blood. Even so, she called herself a coyote, and she did so with pride. It made sense, though, that this one looked wolfish; Anselm had been mostly indistinguishable from a wolf, and he’d even had the size to prove it. ”Well, in that case, you could probably find my dad on the borders if you waited long enough. Not a lot of us are all that fond of wolves,” she added as a vague afterthought, though surely this lady had picked up on that by now. She then mentioned where she was from, and Tal shifted slightly as she shrugged half-heartedly. ”I’ve never heard of it, but I’ve never gone very far from this place.” During her travels, she had chased the North Star and missed her family with each step she took. ”So where’d Anselm go anyway?” She was curious. One day there, next day gone. Typical of most wanderers, but not of the second-in-command, surely.