It had been two days, and Bronte had not so much as eaten anything despite what was offered. She hadn't quite understood the fact that you eat what you kill. She figured this was the time to introduce herself, possibly get food if the wolfess would let her, or at least ask. She started to approach the wolf, almost forgetting about the hawk on her head. With a second thought, she muttered to the avian, "If it looks like it'll get ugly, fly away birdie." In fact, she liked the hawk a lot more than the chickens. It was prettier and didn't rattle on about nothing like the chickens did, and often they heckled her until she got mad and chased them. She trotted up to the wolf, taking note of everything around her.