Bramblepoint in the woods somewhere

Sawyer’s words were met with a heavy sigh and a longing glance of disappointment. It was to be expected under such conditions. The golden man had never known a hardship like this one. He had lived his life well-loved and looked after by a devoted pack tucked away in the deep dark of the woods. It thrived, and because of that so did those who called it home. Since his arrival in the Teekon Wilds, he could not help but have an ache in his heart for the forest that he had called home.
 
The thanks from the dark wolf did not go unnoticed. Sawyer nodded his head politely and once it was said and done, his ears swiveled forward to meet the rest of the stranger’s words. Dash he repeated in his head, drawing his flaxen gaze over the frame of the dark wolf. “Pleasure, Dash… pleasure,” he drawled with a smile. “I’m Sawyer. Not from ‘round these parts. Moonspear, you say? That nearby?” he then continued with peaked interest. If the golden boy was to survive in the famine-ridden lands, he would need to seek out a pack.