Witch's Marsh prorsus

It was perhaps evident that Ico wasn't paying the least bit of attention to the prey being tracked. His attentions were drawn entirely to the silvery fellow — the Guard from the Stream of Whitebark — even while shyly avoiding eye contact. He'd never heard of Whitebark, but it cut a clear visual in his mind. He was always intrigued to know of other packs in the area, and wonder how they compared to Ursus.

Ico, he replied, glancing hopefully at the tall hunter-guard in search of something to call him when he thought back on him later. Already he imagined something hard and dignified and formal. He was a Vincent or a Dirk or an Apollo...