Junco

"I've always admired the slate junco," spoke the wolf. "They are foragers. Instead of hiding away in the treetops, they cast themselves upon the surface of the snow, hunting like robins for whatever they can scavenge. Humble things, but keen; though, unlike robins, they stay in their flocks. You never see just one. They belong together."

The male, slate grey pelt of his own, was older than Skua. He was older than everyone else that had been introduced, which was typically a dangerous occasion for a leader. Older male wolves were almost guaranteed to engage in a fight for dominance, but this one never made any sort of attempt. He was confident, especially to approach Skua's pack so boldly, but he was not proud. Even if his perceptive capabilities and plain intellect should have made him so.

"Junco it is, then?" said Skua, sitting before him unthreateningly. 

"Junco indeed," responded the newcomer.

And with that, Longfeather Pack grew a soul fuller, and it prospered for it.