Bearclaw Valley chamomile

Unfortunately, Kvarsheim's hunting capabilities didn't sound very impressive. Was an alliance with them worth a few spare chipmunks and feathers? Kristjan smiled through the thought, attempting to hide his embarrassment. Yet it was this profound sense of discomfiture that gripped the boy most tightly when Sven looked to him expectantly for an insight on valley news.

Fearful of further shame, he lied. Oh! Well, it's usually pretty quiet, he yapped on innocently, tail slowly waving. Though I met a fellow with a limp a little while ago - didn't catch his name - and he told me some wolf in the mountains where the sun sets pushed him down a cliff unprovoked. He gestured towards the Sunspires. Said he had gray fur and a dark mask. He frowned, picturing the wolf he framed. But I haven't seen anyone like that around here. 

Though it was true he traveled more, Kristjan had never done anything useful in all that time; mostly lollygagged and dillydallied to his heart's content. He could only hope that his little lie made him seem useful in some way. And he didn't think twice about demonizing any dark-masked wolves in the process.