what in the goddamn hell is goin' on?
he had heard the unfamiliar hollers, and had already been on his way by the time a shout for him came from hearthwood's own. his pace began to quicken.
he was out of breath when he arrived, and of course, to his chagrin, hearthwood had landed themselves — another lost child. but he was boone, and never in a million laps around the sun would he let a child scream like that in front of him.
he did not wait to hear an explanation before he dove to reach for the youngin's scruff, clipping it gently between his jaws and tugging with taut muscles.

boone spat a mouthful of wet sand and mud upon the grass, arms now wrapped around the delicate form.
let's get her situated first, the man says softly, gaze drifting toward the sharp-edged figure of mae. dry, warm. then i'll have her take a look.
he drags the girl toward a patch of exposed grass beneath half-melted sludge and grey snow. she is embarrassed, clearly, and he couldn't blame her. he tries to soothe her with a soft pat of a forepaw to her shoulder. don't you worry about that right now. what's your name, miss? and where'd you come from?