Witch's Marsh prorsus

Ico felt intensely affected by the grey wolf's presence, perilously inclined to do whatever was asked of him — a move he was fearful of, because Ico was no hunter, and to follow the scent of prey was to find there either injury or humiliation. But still the gossamer youth followed.

As to the voice, which he felt tremulously in his fragile bones, Ico blinked ahead shyly. Yes, sir. I'm of the pack Ursus, down South. The statement of belonging didn't bring him as much pride as it used to. Are... are you a traveller? he asked softly, his deep curiosity about this man clashing with his self-conscious instinct to fall silent.