Lost Creek Hollow walkerworld 2.0

His pale neck arched as he pressed his nose against his own shoulder and sniffed. Bushtit didn’t think he smelled like anything in particular, which shook hands with what she described. The boy’s face curdled a little, fairly certain now she was making fun of him.

He righted his head as she elaborated a little. Bushtit felt slightly better, though it still threw him that this she-wolf—his own peer—would come up to him and begin throwing insults. And they weren’t playful, like his mother’s.

Probably because I’m not from the valley, he said guilelessly, glancing around briefly before leveling her with another look. I’m from the lowlands, he told her, which was at least partly true. I’m Bushtit. What’s your name?