Religion was relative, and Poland's motives were derived from the most innocent of desires: to share. Sharing was the foundation of all civilization, the pedistal on which all the arts, all communication, and all of society was built. If a creature had concieved a language to speak and had not shared, its invention would have rested with its corpse, forever forgotten, unuseful, and language starkly still, uninvented.

And so, when Poland happened upon another wolf sunbathing lazily, his motives sparked the energy that fueled his limbs. Daintily, he trotted upon his four limbs, one after another in tidy succession. He gave no pause, no introduction, no acknowledgement whatsoever. He had passed the wolf now, and when he was beside it, his tail nearest the wolf's head and paws, he passed quite literaly.

PFFFFFBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT

A squeaky, long flatulence proceded from his anus unceremonially, and unadulterated. Only then did he pause, ceasing his trot. Quizzically, he looked behind him, noting the other, stranger wolf.

"Did you do that?", he sniffed the air. "Kinda stinky, don'tcha think?"

He stood for some time, his expression silent as stone, serious as all death. He watched the other, waiting for some reaction. It was not in his nature to marvel at the proportions or colors of another, so he did not, and regarded the stranger as merely that.