Blackfeather Woods watercolor melon

Ovaltine's ears swiveled and his green eyes attached themselves to the birds as they flew the coop (quite literally). This only lasted a second before he retargeted his attention to the young girl. "A fitting name," he replied, his smile easy and inviting. If he'd known her worries, he would have assured her that he was nothing of a spy. He rarely shared his information, unless it was requested of him to send a message. Spreading secrets was not his life's work.

"Your eye," he said, unwilling to ignore it any longer, "What happened?" Perhaps, if he could learn how hers had been injured, he could spread that information to others and prevent such injuries. That was something that aligned more closely with his morals. It would not harm her (or her pack) in the slightest if he did not reveal her name, and it was possible the information might be useful for future generations. Prevention was key to most injuries, after all.