Moonspear and watered heaven with their tears

Small game was not his forte — his larger frame made tight turns a bit difficult, and he always seemed to pull something scrambling after them in the mountains. Mountain goats, though? He was an old hat.

"I am," he replied, as close as he ever came to curt. His parents had made sure he grew up to be a good provider. A good husband. Three was not yet too old, but... 

He ducked under a branch as they traveled further up the mountain. His lungs adjusted easily to the strain.

"Thank you," he replied, a smile in his voice. He'd assumed already, considering he'd been bade to follow the young woman, but it was nice to be welcomed aloud. "I will endeavor to make myself useful." He imagined himself to be quite a boon to this pack, though he did not say so to Treepie.

"You may call me by either name," he told her. "What of the others here? What are they called?"