The drowsy wolf yawned again, rising lazily to all four paws. Hunting, hunting, hunting. He needed to focus or he would sleep his life away. His pale blue eyes blinked, and then suddenly, something - someone - large, bulky, dark fur, approaching too quickly! Slay huffed in surprise, stumbling back a pace and almost tripping in the process. Who - who was this stranger? "Ah - ah - what?" he managed, blinking owlishly as his mind raced to catch up. This lone male was not aggressive, then... but curious?
Leaves crunched beneath his paws as he fixed his defensive stance into a more neutral posture, head tilted with vague confusion. "Sorry, you - uh - startled me there. My... fur?" Slay's quizzical expression grew more guarded, a touch of suspicion hardening his gaze. His culture too valued the colors of the pelt they were born with, but his unique pattern of black and white had marked him something supernatural. Despite the positive connotation with being a messiah of sorts, he suffered much abuse for it as his family members sought to use him for their own good. "To be quite frank, I would love to have nice black fur like yours..." Although his voice trailed off as his eyes lingered on the patches of discoloration. The bleached-orange look could not be natural. What an odd fellow.