Lion Head Mesa Rules were meant to be pushed and pulled

He was taken aback when she started crying, but age had matured the response.  Instead of awkward, he felt a bit of understanding; he wondered if she even had a pack, or who the last wolf she'd spoken to was.  A few years ago, Colt would have made an excuse and bolted.  Now, he simply sat down, a short bit off, and his ears tilted back.

"So you cannot speak.  Or choose not to.  But I am guessing you know this place."  He looked at the Mesa.  "I've heard about these woods.  I wanted to see what they were like.  Curiosity, all that."  He flashed a smile. "Not too cheery a place, but this interested me.  Thought I'd see if I could climb it."

He wasn't sure why he continued to talk; but it seemed for some reason the right thing to do.  Likely little of it was of interest to her, and perhaps she'd move on, thinking him odd for sharing such mundane things with a stranger.  But he liked to chat, and if she couldn't bring herself to, he'd at least make one sided companiable conversation. Besides, he generally assumed that other wolves enjoyed his company.  It was a delight, after all.