Hickory watches the other wolf as he draws closer, his pale eyes wide and his good ear pricked curiously. He has come t orealize that there are some wolves here with a history, a history that he does not quite understand. They often hold themselves above newcomers, which is not particularly interesting to Hickory, but he is packless, and able to avoid anyone with whom he does nto want t osocialize.

Some days, like today, he finds strangers by accident.

This one seems a good sort though, and Hickory stretches slowly into a standing position when the other wolf is close enough to greet. “Not at all,” says the reddish wolf with an easy yawn. Though he is by nature a less assertive creature, his sharp teeth are a relatively submissive reminder that he is still a predator despite his comfort with a low rank in wolf society.

“I’m Hickory,” he tells the stranger as he rubs the last of the fine brown hairs of his meal from his long muzzle. “Are you from around here?”