Barrow Fields you're gonna keep my soul, it was yours to have long ago.

the girl remained rooted to the spot and ingram eyed her with a skeptical expression playing clearly across his muzzle. he turned his head to the side as if searching for the wolves she spoke of, yet he held her body clear in his peripherals. his ears pulled back in question as he shifted, uneasy with the proposition of more wolves crawling from the tangle. if they weren't friendly, he might run into a spot of trouble.

the second thing the young girl uttered nearly made ingram laugh - he wrestled to keep a serious decorum about him, but he lost. what started as a giggle turned into a snort (possibly accompanied by a snot bubble out of his left nostril) as he envisioned anyone dragging this girl off. surely she'd set up such a squabble the act would hardly be worth the energy -- and she didn't look like the type a captor could eventually win over.

"um. okay well, i guess that's good cause i wasn't going to bite you or kidnap you anyway." he rejoined in a slightly combative tone -- until he realized his disinterest in kidnapping or biting her might be misconstrued as an insult. girls were good at doing that, ingram observed -- taking every well meaning thing and twisting it the wrong way. "not that... you're not pretty enough to bite or kidnap... i just.. you're not my type." there, that would 100% make it better.