Lost Creek Hollow Lone ranger, Wayward son

Rickon froze as the voice called out, one paw hanging in the air as if he thought moving an inch more might bring on a sudden attack. The nose of a thousand wolves? Though skeptical, he was naive enough to be wary of such a proclamation. What if it turned out to be true, while he ignored it as exaggeration? Well, walking around the feeding wolf clearly wasn't an option, so he turned and doubled back slightly, walking forward slowly until he had come into view of the other male. "Nah, I don't mean you no harm," he offered readily, his own tail pulling back and forth in slow sweeps of uncertainty. "I was actually tryin' not to disturb you, and just creep on by, but I guess I need practice in the sneakin' department."