Porcupine Ridge sweet nothings,

Lorcan's gaze flicked to the boy, a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his lips as he registered the suspicion in those green eyes. Something small, he replied, his tone easy, unhurried. A rabbit, maybe. A vole, if we’re unlucky.

He rose to his paws, a shadow shifting against the snow, and tilted his head toward the forest's edge.

The dark wolf moved slowly, deliberately, giving the boy time to process, to decide. You’ll get the hang of it quick. Small game’s a good start. Teaches patience. His voice carried no mockery, only a quiet confidence that seemed to settle like a weightless mantle around him.

He glanced back at Alasdair, his amber eyes gleaming with faint amusement. Unless you’d rather sit here and keep guessing.