Totoka River you say if you could fly, you’d never come back down

The dark, incurious male continued to stare—perhaps impolitely—and explored her features for a hint of something he could mistrust. It didn't take much, but he could presently find nothing misgiving in her expression as she thought of what to tell him. He wondered (because he had met the type before) if she were a deceitful harlot intending to lead him into the territory of a cougar, bear, or something equally as vile, but her vague interest in where he had ventured from gave him the impression that she wasn't of that particular influence.

"In the valley, southeast of the mountains." He didn't mention Swiftcurrent Creek by name, not because he didn't trust her with the information, but rather because she hadn't specifically asked for it. Haunter tended to be a very literal wolf, not yet attune to social influences, cues, and other genial behaviors common to familiar conversation. He listened, but found himself focusing now on the slight accent she had in certain words, due to being born of two languages. He had noticed it, but Haunter had been more concerned with her usefulness rather than the sound of her voice; he was interested in it, but not inquisitive enough to ask.

Instead he listened to her instructions and allowed his gaze to follow the motion of her muzzle into the deepening woods. He gazed for a moment, and then his yellow eyes flickered back to her inky face. He thought to thank her, but his mind changed just as quickly as the thought had formed, and instead he chose to speak something more beneficial to himself. "I'm hungry as well... Would you teach me to fish?" Since she was being useful and all. And this somehow seemed more polite than outright asking her to catch one for him.