Golden Glade Take Yourself Home

Unaware of the man's feelings towards him, Prim continues of his way, his dusty brown nose pushing its way through the thick  chest fur. The man smells a little odd, not like the wolves at his pack—no, it was darker, almost damp and woodsy, and made Prim feel a little weird.

Pulling back, the exuberant child stares up at the deer praiser. "You smell odd, Cenric.. do-air-whine. But that's okay! Sometimes my siblings smell a little weird. But not like you, no no. You kinda smell like the woods. Do you live in the woods? Are you with the deer wolves?" He continues to babble on, talking of the brown wolves his mother warned him about and slipping the word of inbred without noticing it.

"Oh and im Primrose, but my friends call me Prim so you can too."