Otter Creek I'll [m]ake your timber shiver

For once, Xan could not meet the gaze of another directly. He could feel the other's eyes lingering on his form, burning him in a way that he couldn't describe. His paws itched to move, to leave the scene immediately before something happened, but move he could not. The boy could only stand there, wondering if his offer would be accepted, and if he'd succeed in acquiring for himself a decent alibi. Yet there'd come a question in response to his own, followed by a comment that was clearly connected to his earlier statement. There was nothing to suggest anger in his tone, however, and so the Inuit believed himself to be in the clear. "You wouldn't be imposing, I kind of need you to come along," he'd said. "You're going to be my reason for being away from home for as long as I have been." It was not a request, nor even a demand, but a simple statement. That is how things were going to go, and he'd make certain of it—even if it meant creating another deal that, in the end, might leave him even more confused.

A name was given, something to finally refer to the pale one as. It was a strange name, for sure, but he'd refrained from commenting on it. "I'm Alexander," said the boy. "But mostly I'm just called Xan." It was his preferred name, something his father had given to him. Thereafter, he'd gone quiet, a rare occurrence for him. It hadn't lasted for very long, however, for soon there'd come new questions. "Do you greet everyone like you did me? Just go up to them and give a compliment, see how far it gets you?" It was a foreign concept to him.