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-fails-
Alacrity was unaccustomed to compliments, especially ones that threatened to cross the dangerous line into flattery. At home, most of the men she had known were either uncles, brothers or cousins, fellow comrades at arms that filled the ranks of scouts and warriors. Those that were non-relatives came strictly to woo the elder sisters, hoping to secure alliances or the right to father the next generation. Their flattery was undisguised and unrelenting, and these focused politicians couldn't afford to spare even a glance for the younger sisters, for the elder were a jealous and watchful breed. Not that Alacrity minded. She saw the pettiness and the insincerity, and besides, she was most assuredly not the only single female in the pack proper.
So she struggled a moment with the awkwardness of the notion of male attention, before settling into the good humor that was her namesake. "You will give a poor lass ideas with words like that," she said after a brief moment's pause, hoping the witticism had translated properly. Her own tufted tail, however, was shifting as much as his was. Alacrity, apparently, was not immune to good looks and charm.
"I come from Africa, east across the... Atlantic," she replied to his query, stumbling as she navigated her memory bank to find the name of the ocean she'd crossed. She assumed that the continent would be a safe point from which to orient geographically, hoping he was at least partially traveled. "My mother's pack lives not too far south of the great desert, but a long ways from the sea." A river on their lands was actually a tributary to the Nile, and it was the waterway that Alacrity had followed north to civilization.
The effects of the wind at this range were finally negated, and Alacrity was able to smell a more detailed biography. Much was like reading text in a foreign tongue -- the scent signatures probably had meaning for those more adept at reading them. But one thing was clear, "I smell a pack on you. Do you reside nearby?"
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