tell me more i got a box cutter with your name on it

Dashiell

"Oh." No shit Dash, he had learned to fight from his father. And from life. Wasn't that how everyone learned it, really? Dash's own father probably knew a thing or two about fighting that he could have taught a younger Dash, if a younger Dash had been willing to listen and learn. That was the catch, wasn't it? To acquire a skill you had to actually sit still and listen and train and show some dicipline. None of these were Dash's forte.

Dash brightened when the man gave him permission to approach. "Dash," he answered the man's question absentmindedly, eyes wide as they scanned the contents of the hole. The wolverine seemed to cache the same kinds of things as wolves, although it was impressive that one by itself could amass such a collection. It was also crazy how far that thing had travelled in one day, collecting all this food. Dash's paws were about to fall off, but he had no doubt that the wolverine would have happily kept on going well into the night.

"Holy shit," Dash emitted, eyes landing on the half-eaten skull of some kind of large rodent thing. A skunk or a beaver maybe? Teeth marks on the skull made it clear that the wolverine had munched straight through the bone. "That fucker can bite through bone! Shit man, lucky it didn't get its teeth around your leg or nothing." The boy's gaze lifted to meet that of his company. He wagged his tail in a friendly manner.

After a short moment, he sighed conclusively. "Welp, thanks for letting me take a look. I'm gonna get going before the fucker comes back for round two. Enjoy your spoils, dude." Dash was such a magnet for trouble, he was beginning to develop a sixth sense for knowing the right time to bail out of a situation. And his spidey senses were tingling. With a parting nod, the boy set out on his way with a carefree, jaunty spring in his step.