The Bracken Woods there is no other word for spirit

He grinned lazily when she began a slow approach, and though her words touched his ears with no hint of mockery, Prophet pulled a face and pulled away from his tree as well. He began a weaving trot around the next tree, only to say, "why, to find better food, better drink and better deer trails, of course." His endgame was uncertain. His goals were short-term, usually, like finding a meal, a place to rest his head, a place to piss. His only long-term goal was to see as much of the world as he could. Whether that changed or not was up to those he encountered.

"Home is home," he offered with a shrug, "and the world could be better than home." He would understand if it was a sentiment she couldn't understand. After all, without saying so many words, he'd inferred that her departure from home was involuntary. That she would pine for the familiarity of natal lands and the promise of food and companionship was only natural, for hers was presumably wrenched from her by forces beyond her command. Comparatively, Prophet had chosen to leave, and that made all the difference in his perception.