The Heartwood the wolf and the lion

"I'll see what I can do," he vowed to her hopes that his story wouldn't need to be told for a long time to come. He couldn't promise to stay alive, for after all, he had recently dedicated his young life to being ostensibly about acts of bravery. But if staying alive meant also sharing some of that time with the magical storyteller before him, then he would gladly try to. Her name, October, was tucked away in his thoughts as if ferreting away some secret he'd never share with anyone. He smiled at her, tipping his head towards the skeleton as she indicated to it.

"Oh, yeah— I sure did! Me an' ol' Bonesy here, go way back," he quipped, bushy tail in a practical flail now, as he moved to loom over the prone, long-deceased animal. "Wha' was that Bonesy?" he asked, leaning in close to the lion's skull. "Mhm, go on, go on... Oh! You said 'she prettier than a canyon wallflower' huh?" He looked up at her from his crouch. "He says he thinks you're mighty fine, miss October, and that I better try an' be your friend before ya realize I'm just a huge dorkazoid."

Standing, Rickon peeled his lips at her in a sheepish grin. "Maybe I'm too late?"