Falls of the Hinterlands I tell you that I’m thinking about

Before he can decide on anything, he is found out. 

It is not malice that draws Mesa from the shadows but curiosity, the kind one might have for a bear if this was their first encounter with something as large and as powerful. He wondered how much the man would have to eat to get his limbs moving. He was probably full of shit, thought Mesa — literal shit, which had to go somewhere. Mesa went on to wonder, if that scent wreathed upon him was a pack scent, how unfortunate it was for the other wolves to live around someone like that. Was that why his coat was so brown? 

These, and other unnecessary but equally crude thoughts, often took up residence in his thick skull and would orbit his solitary braincell as they processed. A side-effect of a life lived in solitary, one might suspect.

He doesn't speak to the man as he treads across the wide path left by Kynareth's hefty body. He pauses once to sniff the dirt where a pawstep had left a massive indentation, then carried on a bit, so that Mesa could pose beneath the starlight as if he had meant to be discovered in the first place.