Sawtooth Spire You must've gone and put a spell on me

Stag rose on shaky limbs as Wylla encouraged him, imparting a sense of calm command as she did so. The boy was doe-eyed and timid as he stepped after her, matching her pace but never once surpassing her. From time to time he would look upon her and study her face: what was she thinking, what was her expression, how did she carry herself?

Much like with Mahler, Stag was learning by imitating his elders.

Wylla mentioned the log, and Stag faltered. A shame choked him; he had been clumsy and stupid. He had made himself look like an idiot in front of the only wolves whose opinions he cared about (besides Zarya). As he looked at her, he could see her face was contorted by a serious attempt to remain impassive - but even he could see the snicker that lit up her sunny gaze. He looked away quickly, his lips tight. "Mm." He knew it was rude to not say anything when an adult was talking to him, so he just mumbled instead. He really wished he hadn't tried that stupid trick. "I wish it had been her and not me." The unkind thought had slipped out of his mouth before he could catch it; Stag gasped, and clasp his jaws shut with a tiny, terrified click.