Deepwood Weald I am a lost boy in Neverland

A feeling of being watched ran a chill up his spine, and his eyes grazed over the land, his tail swishing nervously. The trees and haze didn't help, casting floating shadows into the air. His feet floated across the ground, almost willing him out of these woods.
Hearing a voice, he froze. His heart beat faster in his chest, the sound loud in his own ears. What did the wolfess call him? He tried to act brave as he turned and faced her, yet inside, he was wound tight, his muscle tense. Steadying himself, he spoke, and he was proud that his voice was steady. I'm not a morsel. I'm called a dog. Named Sprig. What's your name?