The Magic of Birch

Perhaps she could see the young man approaching. It was not hard to spot him; the terrain was smooth and the sky clear enough that the black-furred man stuck out from the horizon rather blatantly. He had been exploring the most uneventful place. It had a modest variety of den-digging animals, like groundhogs and rabbits, and a river cut through it starting--or ending?--from the east side, the direction he came from. He hadn't seen another wolf in a while, and though he somewhat kept to himself, he began to grow a bit lonely. Thus, the reason he had decided to come forth.

Ryan walked at a fair pace, conserving energy but otherwise walking fast enough so as not to seem like some odd, lingering presence just following. By the time he got close enough, the second figure had already left, while the other remained in place. He came to the one who rested by the small piles of upturned dirt. “Hello,” it didn't take much observing to notice that the woman was elderly. Grey lined her muzzle. What was once perhaps a beautiful ebony coat was now reduced to a slight pale, grey hairs echoing her long age*.

Ryan would offer her a smile, keeping a respectful distance and sitting down to display his calm nature. He meant the woman no harm, and wanted to converse. The upturned dirt did not go unnoticed; the male looked around the area in intrigue, wondering what she'd done. “I hope you don't mind if you and I talked? My name's Ryan,” his tone was lighthearted and suggestive, “Did you plant something?”