cry a little

As her curiosity grew, so did her bravery, as she sniffed and pawed at the strange pieces of metal, yet never managed to figure out what they were. Before she had spent much time speculating, however, she was approached by a young wolf, his tones almost familiar enough to mistake him for a relative of some kind, perhaps around her age, she figured, noting that there was a lankiness to him that favoured yearlings. Even the males in her family often took three or four years to fill out fully.

She dipped her muzzle in polite acknowledgement, feeling the prickle of unease tug at her ears. Fighting against the feeling of laying that, she offered a shy smile, her tone friendly, with a hint of recognition, as if they were already acquainted. It was a practiced response, metered and carefully thought out, polite without setting herself up to be put in an uncomfortable situation. With so many family members cross bred and inbred, it was difficult to keep everyone straight.

"What can I do for you?" Spoken calmly, kindly, she could have been opening herself up to a usual exchange between two comrades, though her mind raced as she wondered what the stranger could possibly want with her. There was something else - a trained subservience - that was clear in the words she used. Used to a heavy handed, patriarchal tyrant at the helm of the pack, she immediately opened herself up to tasks of servitude without second thought. The prospect of a hunt, however, would soon whet her appetite; a task that she would have wholeheartedly agreed either way.