Wapun Meadow give 'em hell, kid

A shock of heat rushed the length of Merrit's neck, and he barely managed to keep himself from tripping over his paws. How could Tulimaq know about Stark? But just as quickly as the thought came upon him, understanding followed and swallowed its place. Things were not well at home - but that wasn't what the warrior was asking.

His ears still burned, but he nodded, stiff and composed - or trying to be, hoping the man hadn't caught his near stumble. "All's good, as long as my brother watches," he said with the slightest frown, and speaking of which - he turned, and sent a short howl to beckon @Ezra to the meadow. If he had been braver (or anything of a fool) he wouldn't have called him at all; even now some darkened part of him raged with the want to kick out against Valette's verdict, but his heart ached at the very thought of betraying his mother's trust. How could he? Valette hadn't been the slightest bit thrilled at the idea of him training with a stranger, but he at least could understand, somewhat, in part. At the end of things she hadn't said no, and at least she had chosen Ezra to watch him and not someone else.

He turned back to Tulimaq with question in his eyes. Merrit knew some wolves didn't like talking, while others did - and he realized that apart from a title and a name, he honestly didn't what kind of wolf Tulimaq was. Would he appreciate his questions? His want to know? Or would his words only irritate him and turn him away? It was safer to be quiet, it was always safer, so Merrit let his body speak the readiness his tongue wouldn't let him.