She had been called Thistlepup – thistle and bramble – until her adult coat had grown in, leaving no doubt of her uncanny resemblance to the wolves’ smaller cousin. The amused curl of the other wolf’s lip is not an unfamiliar one, but Foxtail is grateful that he does immediately try out a joke about it. She has heard them all, Foxtail is sure, and none of them have been funny. His attitude seems to reflect hers (a few brief wags of his tail), and by the time he accepts her offer, Foxtail has decided that this red stranger is not quite as horrible as he could have been. His manner of speaking is formal and somewhat foreign to Foxtail, who only says what she has to and doesn’t bother to add politeness of flourishes.

The quick, “Good,” that she answers with is proof enough of that, and she sits down a few feet from Rio and wraps her own red tail around her paws. “You from around here?” She asks with a curious tilt of her head. She knows that there are packs here, but it is clear that Rio is alone. Foxtail assumes this land to be like her own, where some wolves have been present for generations nd others are newcomers. For the first time, she is a newcomer, and while it seems a little strange, she does have at least one constant with her.