Bitterroot Valley mary, mary, quite contrary

"Your Heda's pack?" he repeated in that faux-interested tone adults get when a child has said something uninteresting by adult standards. Heda didn't mean anything to him, so he couldn't surmise who she might've been referring to. Technically, though, she had given him something of use— the information that this was a "new" pack. "Is Heda your papa, or...?" Rickon pressed, drifting as his eyes briefly checked their surroundings, further trying to think about how best to converse with a child. Would it be wise to turn and run as far from her as possible, potentially leaving her alone? What if she chased him? What if he left and something else happened upon her before her pack could? The dark wolf swallowed, drawing his green eyes back towards the small stormcloud still several yards into the pack.

She was standing at her tallest height, which wasn't saying much, and presented herself with such confidence, he couldn't imagine that this child could ever be in any sort of danger. He didn't know it was naivety; a trait he shared with the girl. "My name's Rickon. What's your name?"