Otatso Wetlands Frog hunting.

Listening and talking with Scarlett reminded Boone somewhat of the things his mother would often say to him, especially after being teased or attacked. She would tell him that not all wolves hated his blood (she had loved his half-blooded father, after all) and that he would meet those who cared only for the good that was inside of him. He didn't believe her while staying in Red View, but after her death and his consequential abandonment of his birthpack, he had found her words to be more and more true the more he traveled.

He had met an equal amount of haters as he did those who didn't mind, and this particular female was unexpectedly making it clear that not everyone was out to get him. She assured him that she didn't see herself as better than him because of her rank, which struck him as odd considering he'd been raised in a place where rank was tantamount to life itself, but he did not knock her perspective. Rather, it made him grin.

"I can see why you lead Bearclaw Valley then. You're just as selfless as they come," he commented idly, his thin tail swaying back and forth slowly.

He tipped his head curiously as she mentioned her family (or lack thereof) and he made a noncommittal noise in the back of his raspy throat. "Family's a relative term, anyway. The Valley will be more family to you than your blood relatives ever were, I'm guessin'. No problem wit' that." He smiled again, scarred cheeks crinkling as he regarded the female kindly. It had been a while since he had had a conversation as pleasant as this.