Silver Moraine Where Do I Go From Here?

As she explained, he followed her motion to the unfit leg he hadn't noticed in his poor scrutiny before. His tail thumped on the ground sympathetically, but he didn't comment otherwise. What do you say to a wolf with only three perfect legs? Rickon wouldn't know— he'd never met one, and it certainly hadn't been a topic of one of his mother's lessons. Now, Ricky, here's what you do when you meet someone crippled... No, that didn't happen.

"You gotta be better than me, at any rate. I mean if I'm used to roadkill, and you got tastes for the fresh stuff, then that's sayin' somethin'." He smiled at her, clearly not bothered by the truth of it at all. Out his siblings he'd always been the worst anyway, so he was used to being subpar on that front. "No need to rush, ma'am. You're gonna need to digest a little before we head up them slopes anyway— don't wanna get movin' too fast." Rickon began to ease his posture, finding himself leaning comfortably against the face of the cliff. He could sleep propped up like that, as he often had in his canyon-home Trench, but he watched her plaintively, relaxing as time passed. "So where're you from, Grace?"