not a damn thing

Dane found himself a bit dazzled by the pretty face that appeared through the thicket. A once-over of her slender build told him she'd had as much difficulty getting through as he did. "Hello, m'lady," he said softly, dipping his head politely. A charming smile found its way onto his face as he raised his head again. "Aye, but I don't know how much better those thorns are than a bit of water." He turned to present his own flank which had thorns and the odd leaf or two tangled in his fur and chuckled. Talking to strangers had never been a weak point of his, especially when they were pretty lasses. He sat down, his bushy tail unfurled and curling at the tip to beckon her forward so she might get comfortable. "I'm Dane Shepherd, what might I call you?" He'd ask, tipping his chin inquiringly.

If he were honest, it felt good to have someone to talk to -- someone who actually spoke the language, that is. Back home, the company wasn't too pleasant. As if summoned by his thoughts, Laika came marching back into the thicket, her neck craned back as she hauled a large mouse with her. Despite her small stature, one had to acknowledge her aptitude at hunting. The marten set down her kill and eyed the she-wolf uncertainly. "Wer ist das? Ich war fünf Minuten weg!" she exclaimed in her little voice, though Dane didn't understand a damn thing. "Stop yer squeakin'," he said good naturally to Laika, who seemed not to care anymore as she dug into her kill. "This is Laika, the little beast who won't stop following' me." He said to the other wolf with a smirk, wrapping his tail around his side.