His assumption about the native tongue around here had been correct, the ragazza's lack of understand of his own native tongue bringing amusement to the man. He chuckled to himself, a hearty laugh that sounded genuine to the untrained ear, a hint of embarrassment touching his voice as he spoke up again. Mi scusi. he rumbled, clearing his throat as he called upon his knowledge of the english tongue. I am new here. Could you tell me where I am? His italian was heavy in his words as he spoke and he briefly wondered if she would be able to understand him. He had spoken as clearly as he could, enunciating as much as possible. He could speak the little english that he knew perfectly, without so much of a trace of an accent, but playing up his accent could gain him sympathy from the she-wolf. Perhaps she would take pity on the stranger who'd happened upon her, with his rough english, and help him find his way around the new land.
Though the water weighed her pelt down and the mud mixed well with her dark coat, he knew she was a looker. The markings along her delicate face were already intriguing enough as it was and he could only wonder what other markings decorated her svelte frame that he couldn't see because of the dampness of her coat. He took an experimental whiff as he stood waiting to see what she would make of his answer, filling his nostrils with her scent. She smelled of herself, of rain, mud and nothing else. He couldn't pick up the distinctive taste of other wolves that would tell him she was part of a pack, nor could he pick out the scent of a male that would tell him she was mated. His interest in her only grew with each passing moment, but he was careful to keep up his charming stranger rouse. He had to gain her trust first.
