She can feel him, much like one can feel the prevailing winds before the storm. First, it is his scent that finds her, untouched by death and therefore pure, clean, something hardly of interest to her. Thus, there is no need to prepare, for why in the world would he stop by her? But, of course, lo and behold, when the larger, equally dark wolf is emerging from the shadows, his direction is straight for her. The girl of black and white watches him, wondering at him- though when he lifts a paw to place upon her bird friend, a scowl is what he wins and surely deserves. Who is he to touch her friend, when her friend so obviously does not wish it. Achlys is not threatened, but she does push to her slender and lithe paws, her height obviously not matching his own but it hardly mattered. He had years on her besides, and she wasn't one to care about how he looked or how he was. All she cared about were her friends before her, and the fact that she could not continue, not with his big paw in the way. When she speaks, her youthful innocence is there, but there's nothing snarky about it. In fact, if anything, the girls seems more concerned for her friends than anything else. "A paw on a body is not one most appreciated, you know." It is simple, blunt to the point, and all she needs to say. That, and "Now, please move." Again, all she needs to say.

There were so many in this day and age that seemed to feel the need to.. talk, so much so that they also seemed to miss everything else. Achlys found the world around her strange indeed, and this grown wolf before her was no different. In fact, he was just as everyone else- they felt entilted to all things, and could have it simply because they felt they could. It was ridiculous, and perhaps part of the reason why Achlys spent so much time with the dead. So much so that her lovely thick black and white pelt seldom held other scents beside that of rotting flesh. Not that she cared, or really noticed, at least not any more. She is still staring him down, willing him to move and go away, before another presence has her turning her attention. He is younger than her, this is obvious, and where she is white he is gold. She finds her thick dark tail waving once, twice behind her, before it stops short at the sound of his voice. Never before in her entire life, not once- even her mother and father- no one had ever defended her before. It was a strange, new thing, and had the smallest of smiles tugging at the corners of her dark lips. This stranger did not want to see her friends taken from her, and the boy knows it- he is smart, where the older male is not. Nodding her agreement with the young wolves words, she looks then expectantly toward the older male. Almost as if to say 'see, he gets it. what's wrong with you?' but there are no words, of course. Achlys does not need words, not when she has the dead with her.

Thus, unusual silence hangs in the air, perhaps awkward for most but pleasant for her. Pleasant simply because it was her norm, and she was content with that. Now all she needed was for the bigger male to leave, her friends intact, mind you, and for the smaller male to come lay with her and watch and learn. If he wanted to, of course. Something told her that he would, but she would only know when the other wolf was well out of their fur. If he were to go, which while she hoped he would- something told her that it would not be so easy.