Fox's Glade saying fuck your name

The boy seems so comfortable in his own skin. Taylor envies him. This sort of jealousy was reflexive and he had stopped trying to repress it for a long time. It was like trying to keep a politician from lying. A waste of time.
In between bites of fox, he studies how the boy shakes his head, how he pronounces words like nah and dunno. These nuances are endearing, but they captivate Taylor mainly because he knows he will never be able to pull this act off. This was perhaps the only masterclass he had to fail.
Before he opens his mouth, he lingers on the fault line separating lie and truth. I'm not from around here, but I'm in a pack just across the meadow in a valley. Truth. I like it there, but I miss my family sometimes. Truth, lie. 
I'm Fields, he says warmly enough. His smile, while bloodstained, is surprisingly genuine.