Lost Creek Hollow but I know that wicked shape to your smile

nobody had really sought him out yet. he didn't know whether that was a good or a bad thing. most of the packs, he'd come to learn, consisted of large families. sometimes three generations. it was both amazing and annoying, for he had little to talk about with people who have known each other longer than he had been in the Teekons. Baelfire would rest his head on his front limbs, closing his eyes outside of his own den. he was waiting to... well, do something. 

he'd been out a few times already, collecting herbs and other such things that he found useful. the back of his den had been dug out, filled with what he had gotten, and had taken on an earthy scent. "hm" he heard footfalls close by. one green eye opened to view Vuk approaching. in her jaws was moss. moss... he had plenty of it, but could always use more, he supposed. he'd stretch his lanky limbs forward, a yawn wide on his lips. the man wasn't going to treat her differently just because she had three able-bodied legs. 

he'd look behind him after his yawn, to the back of his den. "put them there with the rest" no, it was not his way to enable people. three legs were better than two. and two was better than one. any less and he'd have to call her Stumpy. even he felt that was cruel. accurate, but cruel. at least Vuk's tail lost the scent of most sickness. Treason wouldn't have anything to complain about now.