The golden sun comes down in careful streams of light, catching the sides of trees, the curved edge of cracking leaves upon the ground, and the hollow edge of his deep pelt. It seemed unnatural, how tall the trees were and how brisk the winds felt against him. Had he always been this small in nature’s eye? There was a time when he felt he ruled the ground he walked, wasn’t there? Where had that sense gone? Or had reality just set its heavy self upon his shoulders?

Tuscall knew the world and how imperfect it was; he knew the routine of venturing somewhere he didn’t belong. These woods were not his, and though he caught no markings on the winds, he could not assume that the land he walked was free for frollicking. So he kept low, determined to keep himself in check until some further gleaning of this place could be established. Just gather what you can and… remember not to rush…

Having travelled for… a regrettable amount of his life, the creamy sage was practiced and slow, negotiating the terra with slow paws and deliberate movements. He thought for a moment that his eyes had caught something, their round pearly brown surface locked on the dancing light of day, but a voice shocks him out of his trance. His shoulders tighten, but when he looks, there is a younger fellow before him. He raises his posture slowly, keeping his tail low but stretching his legs and allowing himself a moment to breath. Its voice was fighty like the sky at dusk and its scent wasn’t of the immediate forest, so he had some hope that this wasn’t a matter of breached territories. Even if it was, he had survived diplomatic encounters before. Without having completely relaxed his muscles, the older wolf collected a deeper breath and prepared himself for a short answer.

"Can I assume by your manners that you mean me no harm?”

His voice radiates a lower tone, each word spoken in its own time but with an anxious sprinkling that connects them in his iron sound. Surmising what he can with a glance over the imposing wolf’s person, there isn’t much that Tuscall can accurately assume. It must be a creature familiar with these lands, to act out so confidently towards one it doesn’t know. It seems strange compared to the paranoid, violent beasts Tuscall is used to being greeted with - those with no interest in new pack members coming from outside their lands. Of course, he couldn’t know what this stranger wanted either. Not without asking anyway. "What… do you intend?"