Dragoncrest Cliffs when this pine sapling grows to flower, who'll be here?

The youth didn't turn, didn't even acknowledge other than a lazy flick of his ear. But Gunnar didn't mind, he knew where he stood in this pack. He was one of the lowliest of wolves. He also knew that sometimes, at least where his mother was concerned, one got entranced in the working of plants, and healing and forgot that others existed. His mother had done so often, even disappearing to her plants after Ragnar had died.

Gunnar dipped his muzzle down at the youth. Clearly he hadn't realized that Gunnar was a stranger until just then. The grizzled man lay one ear down, the other forward, a little wary now. He hoped he hadn't frightened the youth, or made him uncomfortable. That wasn't his intention. 

Gunnar nodded. I know enough to save my life and yours if the occasion called for it, but my mother was the real healer. One of the best around. I know a fair more than most. I'm Gunnar.

He repeated his name, in case the youth hadn't heard him when he had first arrived.