Danger could not BELIEVE his good luck so far. His clumsy paws had accidentally taken him over the blurred edges of Bright Moon's fence, and nobody murdered him for it. He'd met and talked to--okay, maybe said five words to--a female without imploding or running away in fear. The Alpha hadn't laughed in Danger's face and called him cruel names for the freakish composition of his feline eyes. He was finally part of a pack! Sure, a small pack . . . whose population seemed to be dwindling down the way a candle's flame slowly flickers out of existence . . . but for now Danger was protected. The wolves who stalked these dark woods would definitely come to his call if he ever needed their help. Or, at least, Danger sincerely hoped they would.

The air was heavy with early summer heat as Danger wandered the outskirts of Bright Moon. As usual, the male's thick midnight fur was in disarray, spiking up in odd places where he hadn't groomed (because his terrible eyes couldn't see the mess) and slick as silk everywhere else, betraying the bony frame beneath. Its dull obsidian hue sucked up the sun's rich golden rays the way a dry sponge absorbs water, leaving Danger in a pleasant yet sluggish mood. His sensitive paws dragged as if he were sleepwalking over the territory's lush carpet of fallen leaves. Lungs ballooned softly with muggy summer breezes and exhaled in dreamy sighs. When had Danger last been so relaxed? Probably like, never. His original pack--the group of wolves who'd disparaged him and alienated him until he could no longer think of them as "family"--weren't very adept at maintaining a welcoming atmosphere. Back "home," Danger had suffered a constant state of stress and self-consciousness. They kept him on his toes and knocked him over every chance they got. Now he enjoyed relative peace. Still found himself hella awkward around strangers, but peaceful nonetheless.

Oh, wait, did we say peaceful? Sorry. That's not quite right. The moment another wolf's cologne reached Danger's hyper-aware senses, the black dog cringed inwardly and froze up like an ice sculpture, his haphazard hackles jerking upright like the quills of a startled porcupine. His large ears swiveled in every direction to capture every last subtle nuance of sound that might show him the stranger's direction; tender paws pressed firmly against the ripe earth, picking up tiny vibrations that an ordinary creature would hardly notice; his messed-up eyes might be useless, but Danger called upon the expertise of his extraordinary nose to hunt down the other gentleman before the dark-draped warrior even took a step. There. Danger's mind, accustomed to permanent shade, pinpointed the visitor with a sudden accuracy that would have stunned a sighted wolf. All he had to do was march up to the border and intercept the stranger. Oh, gods.

Danger didn't want to do it . . . maybe the other guy would leave on his own . . . but that wouldn't make a very good impression of Bright Moon, would it? Besides, whoever had arrived didn't bother to howl, which either meant he was just passing through, a spy, or extremely shy--just like Danger. The inky soldier decided to give the newcomer the benefit of the doubt. At least this stranger wasn't female: then she'd sadly be on her own. Danger was TERRIFIED of the opposite gender.

Pawsteps measured and careful, Danger loped closer to the site he determined the stranger to be. He wasn't wrong; within a few minutes the pale-eyed outcast stood just a few meters away from Bright Moon's newest visitor. Always the considerate one, Danger ensured his body posture wasn't immediately threatening (although how the blind wolf could possibly know what "threatening" looked like was a mystery) and raised his voice to call out.

"Who goes there?" It was a friendly enough question, no hint of a curse behind it. Danger declined giving his name just yet; judging by the opposite brujo's mix of scents, he was looking for a pack to join, and Bright Moon might fail to make the list. Such a wondrous thing Danger's nose was: it compensated for his lack of clear vision one hundred times over. Danger knew each pack this hessian had wandered by before coming here: Cold Summers. Andere Seite. Abendrot. At some point the newcomer must have taken a bath, because his musky fur held the sweet clarity of water and the greener tang of damp earth, somewhat covering the faintest spider-web traces of Abendrot on shoulders. Danger couldn't see the dragons posture, which was a very advantageous thing for stranger--because if he could note the semi-anxious lean in that opposing spine, the darting eyes, Danger would have pondered why not a single trace of true nervousness leaked into the complex tapestry of scents assaulting his nostrils.