Larksong Grotto and walkin's what they'll do

A nod followed. "Dear." He clarified. His mother traveled far to join his Sire’s pack. An offering from a struggling unit quite far out. She carried nothing from her homeland but her mother tongue.

 Something she spoke only to Oren. 

"Your nose is sharp. You picked up on me much faster than others would." A compliment of sorts. He took a seat where he stood. "What do they call you?" His head tilted to one side curiously. The image of a small, brown pelted critter suddenly entered his mind as he waited for a reply. A sea otter. The resemblance of the two caused him to let a chuckle slip.