Quail runs over to you, panting, clearly happy to see you. His voice is muffled by the feathers in his mouth, but you manage to understand him. "Hey there! What's your name? Where do you come from? Oooh, it's so nice to have a visitor!" Can't he put those down?, you think to yourself.
Quail is an unusually small yet muscular wolf with eyes the colour of autumn maple leaves. He never seems to put his bunch of feathers down, and he smells faintly of sweet sap.
Quail was born outside of a pack. He was the runt of the litter, so his mother left him - as all packless mothers would do. Runts usually don't get the chance to learn to hunt because of their lack of strength, and they're only one more mouth to feed. His mother and littermates left him one night but, as if a blessing from the gods, Quail managed to find a dead bird and a small stream. With every day he became a better hunter and more familiar with the environment.