Frankly, Fledge was a little surprised that she had responded so mildly. He wasn't entirely sure what he had expected, but it hadn't been such a lukewarm acceptance of being interupted. Although many - if not most - wolves were amiable towards strangers, he'd had enough encounters with more hostile types to make him consider both reactions just as probable. Fledge was relieved, and where Terra had huffed, he had exhaled with a quiet sigh.

She mentioned blending in, and Fledge tilted his head as she spoke. It seemed to him that she hadn't truly been speaking to him, and he wondered if she was unaccustomed to being apologised to, or to others of her kind in general. Now that he could get a better look at her, she did look quite like the vagrant type. Even in the harshest seasons, pack-wolves seemed to be heftier, their fur more uniform, their very posture more confident. Vagrants, like himself, often had a certain disarray about them, and Terra most certainly possessed it to. Fledge had always believed it to be in the eyes, though. The eyes spoke of their wildness, and he grinned to himself at the thought. Her eyes were gold and amber like his own, and he had always been told he had the eyes of a falcon - they always seemed to be on the hunt for something else.

Terra was right, though. Fledge was a little out of practice, so like she, he had seemingly drifted off into his own thoughts. When she spoke, he came back down to earth. He blinked, taken aback briefly by his own wandering mind before he met Terra's eyes and caught up with present time. His brow lifted in an oh? of curiosity. "You're right. What is an apology without proof one won't do it again?" He grinned, then bowed his head slightly. "What do you have in mind?" He couldn't think of anything that she might need immediately, though perhaps he had read her wrong. In any case, he couldn't deny that some company might do him well. He needed to better orientate himself with the lay of the land, and if Terra had been a stray like him for some time, he'd have to be a fool to not try to establish some good rapport.

"It seems I've found my manners again," he quickly added, not wanting to get himself in too deep without first establishing some kind of...knowing, he supposed. "I was given the name Fledge, if a name is of any use to you." Some wolves, after all, didn't care for names or anything of the sort. To some, he'd just been a body, or a voice to speak their message or tale to some other body, or nothing at all. In Moladion, who could say?