Tension rippled up the red wolf’s spine like a hare having caught the scent of a coyote. Grimoire’s eyes tracked the motion into the young alpha’s face. The refusal was there, in her scrutinizing eyes, even before her unchallengeable words rambled off a pink tongue. Too bad. Knuckles were lovely den decor and Grimoire intended to expand her collection and as it seemed, would have no one to share her enthusiasm with. Though clearly, the blunt refusal concluded that her presence at the grave sight was for her own purposes, not for the convenience of the Red Goddess.

Grimoire shifted her pearlescent gaze to the silver female who awkwardly took a tentative seat behind Foxy. It was intelligent to place a barrier between herself and potential danger. Grim flashed long dentures at the silvery wolf, though her up turned lip didn’t bleed warmth into her metallic eyes. Their words were many. They oozed nervousness. From the red alpha, fear for the safety of her pack gagged Grimoire’s nostrils. From the silver underling, insecurity of her position was laced in her timidness. Silence met their inquiries… at first. Only until it was clear the pair were waiting on her instead of adjusting to each other would she remain frozen like a gargoyle before them.

When the pair’s fussing ceased, Grimoire began prodding. Cracking the stillness of her shell, she sidestepped, and dipped her head low, appearing to be trying to get a better look at Talien. The name resonated in Grim’s auditory system because it was foreign to her; she couldn’t place meaning behind it. Because it had no existing file of connotation in her dust memory files, Talien became something new. Grimoire gathered information to define the name with; it was defined as the manner in which the silver female conducted herself. Polite, timid, tender… fresh. He eyes narrowed into a pleased leer.

”Greetings, Talien.”

Shifting her gaze back toward the fox-wolf, her jaw loosened and she hummed a pensive note. Her neck raised, but her tail remained stagnant at her heels,

”Grimoire, darlin’, is my name. My pack has disbanded for the time being. But, one, actually, I’m looking for.”

With a single stride, she was at the edge of a grave - the one she’d scratched a whole in some time ago. Her crimson dorsal fur stiffened while she stared at its surface. The resting place of the long-dead wolf was the last evidence of Wraith’s presence in Taviora. It was where he had repaired the grave’s surface. She asked,

”Could, would you tell me, dears - do you know where Wraith has gone?”

Her head pivoted to return her gaze to the Tavioran pair, searching their postures for truth while she thought persistently about the changes in them she observed while they remained in each other’s presence.