Wapun Meadow According to the map, we've gone about four inches

Before he could even find his feet to continue his pursuit, the mouse disappeared into a tiny hold in the ground. Even Ephraim's narrow paws couldn't fit into so small a space, he soon discovered, and he snarled his frustration out into the warm air. Hunting was still beyond his abilities. It would be for several months more; at only two months old, he was just fully weaned and his stalker instincts had yet to make their debut. Small game would be a cakewalk for a swift and cunning hybrid like him someday, but not today.

He noticed Grezig way too late for it to do him much good if she attacked, but he bristled and crouched fearfully nonetheless when he lifted his head and found himself face-to-face with an adult wolf who dwarfed his mother. She wore a variegated pelt in shades of mud and dry earth, more like him than any member of his family. At least she wasn't coated black like the Easthollow devils, else he might have fled then and there.

"Ephraim," he answered unhelpfully, having missed entirely the meaning of her question. No one had ever explained to him that his mother was a mutt and that he was a mutt as well, a cross-breed between a noble wolf and a crafty coyote and lesser in the eyes of some canines for it (greater in the eyes of others). As far as he knew he was no different from her and her question was in regards to who he was rather than what. "Who you?"