Wapun Meadow The water temple.

The beast moves. The water shifts—hell, Tulimaq wouldn't be surprised if the entire river altered course to compensate—but he didn't move an inch. They're watching one another for a few minutes before the silence is broken again, and with it comes some understanding. Tulimaq should've seen this coming. It doesn't surprise him too much that someone had been there, watching the boy, keeping tabs. The boy might've said there were no warriors among their ranks but if this man's word was true, even at his age he would be a formidable deterrent to rogues. A warrior in a past life, perhaps. This makes Tulimaq wonder about his efficacy—his skills, his strengths—but he doesn't let himself grow distracted.

He has questions, but first he must answer some. Or not—Tulimaq thinks quickly about how to handle this; he could strike two birds with one (large) stone by playing hard to get.

I did not get his name. Merrit? Hm. As Tulimaq closes his mouth, he drags his tongue across his lips, thoughtful for a moment. He'd remember that name for future use since the boy hadn't given it to him earlier.

Are you his father? Tulimaq countered. I suppose you don't trust him—else you would be asking him rather than trailing me across the wilds. A small jab. Tulimaq is more vocal than other Tartok wolves but he is no sneak, and certainly not a wordsmith. If he wants to test the strength of this behemoth he will need more firepower to bring forth his ire.

He snaps next, I asked him some questions. Then, I left.