Swiftcurrent Creek Andaran atish’an

His brows lifted when Arric pointed out that most wolves would’ve left him missing half his hide, and honestly? He didn’t doubt it.

"Right, lucky,” Fenrith muttered under his breath, a nervous laugh slipping out. His heart was still thudding, but there was a flicker of relief now, even as the wolf’s amusement carried that sharp edge. At least he wasn’t biting. For now.

Well, I wasn’t exactly planning to ask for one while getting flattened into the snow, but—

Fenrith blinked again, caught off guard by the directness of it, and the awkward laugh was back. He glanced to the side, stalling for time before his brown eyes flicked back to the larger wolf. “I’m fast,” he offered quickly, as if speed alone could save his hide. “Like, really fast. I can scout, run messages, whatever you need.”

He trailed off, paws shuffling. Then—

"And, oh!" A hesitant smile lit up his youthful face. He straightened just slightly, though his posture stayed careful—humble. “I’m a healer. Trained for it. I know plants, remedies, how to mend wounds and calm fevers. My pack—” He stopped himself, correcting the thought with a flick of his tail. “Well, where I was raised, we were called druids.”

He cleared his throat. "Sorry you... probably don't care." He smiles. "Anyways, I can learn! Whatever you need me to. I'm very versatile."