Whitefish River but the boy survived his refusal to believe...

the hooded boy listened, quietly but presumably attentively to the advice that the tundrian had to offer him. when he is finished speaking, wintersbane watches the little bow and the glance the boy offers him. i do too. listen, i should probably get going, he doesn't mean to be rude by looking to end their conversation so soon but it's true. he doesn't like to linger in one place for too long while recruiting aside from when it's necessary to rest. but don't be afraid to seek me out when you're better and ready to spar. i'll be around. meant this general area which in a week or two's time won't be true. he'll make the ultimate decision to strike out on his own, but he doesn't know that yet. even if i'm not, he adds, thinking that the hooded boy might try to look for him on one of his recruitment drives which often took him far away from the dark woods for days at a time. my name's wintersbane. if you ask around i'm sure someone could send you in my direction. that was a small benefit to most of the wolves he spoke to rejecting his recruitment attempts: he met a lot of strangers — although he did not always part from them with his name.

and then wintersbane departs from the area, following the wind of the river where it takes him, leaving the boy with his shared wisdom and to his own devices.