Deepwood Weald they're wearing steel that's bright and true

yes of course!

The eventual approach of the treeline became cause enough to slow down—a little, at least, and the yearling perked up his head. Here between the forest's deepening depths, he had to choose his path more carefully with a measured trot. Much of what was ahead came as unknown to him, littered with varying scents, old, new, predator and prey and unidentifiable. He had to find out more and remember to watch his own back all at once.

So, he went on his own whims for a while until he thought he heard something. First time could have easily been overlooked, but by the second and third and after that he stopped counting, he already found his paws drawing closer to go investigate; steadily, he honed in, because curiosity would always lead his footfalls.

His stance was still on alert, given the gentle curve to his tail and sharp stare about him. He slowed down to a walk and thought he could make out a wolf. When she called out, his furs jumped up and he barely contained the small start she gave him. Still, it just told him he was on the right track, so he kept going, and found a groove of his own to fall into on the end of his approach.

She had asked, so he stopped when he was just near enough and sniffed pointedly her way. Just me, he chuffed, and though his posture remained friendly enough despite his rise, there was a hint of an ominous undertone; what if he was worse? Same question, though. Was that you..? he asked back, meaning the noises he had heard earlier and assuming she knew what he was talking about. If not, well, then he had a different search to be on, possibly.