Bramblepoint behind her tired eyes

He barely caught sight of the whelp but there she was, cleaning away the remnants of something he didn't know. Child. The word is rumbled deeply as he gazed upon her a few safe lengths away. It was not meant to be insulting as most might have used a word. He simply did not have a name for her, settled to call her what she was. A quick glance told him there was no parent looming nearby but perhaps he was wrong. The woods were thick after all. What has happened? There is almost a parental concern in his words. He had sired enough children to hone such a tone.

Yet he also knew that he had taught his own children not to talk to strangers alone. Had hers done the same? Would she bolt at the sight of him? There is a look of concern upon his face either way though, waiting for some sort of reaction.