Twisted Slough An isle of flightless birds

The chaos of the birds gradually ebbed, because most of the younger birds in the flock had been so spooked that they wouldn't return to this location for at least a few nights; the older birds could recognize when the wolf wasn't truly hunting so they settled pretty quickly, and with the boy's attention divided - well, everything got pretty calm pretty quickly.

He was most interested in the stranger's odd way of speaking; her inflection was wrong, and for a moment Tywyll was too dumbfounded to comprehend what she was slurring, and then she smiled and -- and he thought he heard her compliment him. It took a second, but he understood and smiled back at her.

It was fun! I could chase them s'more — maybe you could help me get 'em? But I dunno if they'd taste very good. They smell pretty bad and I really just wanna chase 'em till they shut the heck up! His tail wagged triumphantly as he so vocally admitted this, and in the back of his mind Tywyll wondered if she'd notice that he'd cussed. 

He came back to the conversation and realized she'd asked him something else, and after a few seconds of blinking at her he proudly proclaimed: I'm a Redhawk! Well, no, I'm, well, a Blackthorn, but -- okay, I live on the plateau. Its... That way, I think? He motions haphazardly but he's been turned around a few times from the goose chasing, and it makes little sense.