Wild Berry Meadow Tell everybody I'm on my way

Needle.

Stark, against his better judgement, snorted. What sort of name was Needle?

Nonetheless, he offered her a tilted look, something soft swirling through his hardened, beady pupil of malice. No parents, either. Poor girl. Almost as if he felt for her, his ears pinned to his rounded skull, molding briefly into the soft, plush fur of his neck.

It was a sad life to have no sovereign. No sense of order. Perhaps that was why he felt so compelled to take her beneath his wing, to teach her what no one had cared to. Eyes back to the sprawling landscape ahead of them, they bounced from tree to tree, sliding through the autumn tree line with perplexed scrutiny.

"Hmph." A grunt, shallow and quiet. "Whoever named you Needle must not have cared for you." It was a sore, calloused assumption. The heavy thump of his pawsteps grew more pronounced as his pace quickened, black-tipped tail swishing like a white flag above his rounded pelvis.

She asked for his name, and even though he wanted to pause, he kept moving. He kept going. But his nose did twitch, whiskers following suit. "Stark." A cold response, knitted with a distant longing and a solemn, sad air. "Prince Stark Haelvyr." He made sure to lilt his voice into a more... precarious manner, overly exaggerating the way he spoke his title.

He thought she might find that amusing. He did. He hardly felt like a Prince anymore.