King Elk Forest when i was a child

Her chummy smile did not appeared to be a permanent fixture to her face, the bithiúnach absently considered. He supposed he should be — at the very least — grateful that she did not intend to scuff or pick a fight with him; though picking fights in these hard days was an instigation that the Fearghal would only think as foolish. Perhaps beyond foolish, if there ever was such a thing. Her voice carried her inquiry to Arturo's ears, which cupped forth to let her know that he was paying attention, only to swivel to the sides of his skull as the question processed. “No,” the well-mannered Fearghal responded with honesty. There was little sense in lying and the idea of acting like he knew these lands well enough without his reputation being known was rather unappealing to the vain coywolf.

“I come from a place South of these Wilds,” He admitted, albeit he kept it vague. He wasn't intentionally trying to hide: but he saw little need to name his natal pack. Where he came from ceased to matter in these Wilds. The past would always remain relevant but he did not live in his past. Instead, the Fearghal monarch and sovereign kept his gaze and focus steady upon the horizon and what the future he would make for himself here. He had detected the mingling scent of others upon her fur, deducing that she was a pack wolf but he wondered how far from home she'd traversed. He hadn't scented any packs nearby upon his arrival. “And you?” He offered in return.