Fox's Glade gawad

What a vile thing, to laugh at the premise of hunting a child.
 
The stag regarded the wolf with a crease in his brow. Rohan thought that the wolf would think no more of him and be on her way. He had settled somewhat with the realization that she did appear to be alone, though he would not rest quite that easily. The stag knew that the wolves could appear suddenly; they were skilled in the art of the hunt. The prince was determined not to fall to their bite.
 
“Such curious questions,” the royal beast remarked as his ears caught the wolf’s words. He had never been asked such things by a member of her species. For a predator to inquire about the taste of grass, well… it seemed preposterous. Rohan lifted his crown some, dark eyes searching the beast across from him with scrutiny. “You could very well taste it for yourself,” he decided to respond to the wolf’s queries about grass.
 
When she moved on to comment on his amount of time in that world, the stag became somber. Rohan’s features became quite difficult to read. “I have fought in many battles, against more than just wolf. I am a prince of the Elderwood; it is my duty,” he finally said, stoic and sincere in these words.