Deepwood Weald Where's North?

Bastien was slightly taken aback by the wren's defensive response. After all it was she that had disturbed his rest, not the other way around. He shrugged it off, standing to his four legs. He eyed the small bird and kept his envy to himself. No one need know he had it.

"I ... get around," he responded with a rather half-assed answer. She could take it as she wanted. He shook the fallen snow from his pelt, sending it flying in all directions. The wren still stood seemingly stiff. No trust could be made in a day, obviously, but it rather offended him. "Don't worry your downy, pipsqueak. I've already had to pick a hallowed bone out of my teeth tonight." He eyed her. "Besides I'd waste more energy plucking you than I would get from the little you have on you." It was an obvious insult to her size.

"But how devastating it must be for a young little bird to have lost her way home." 

He plopped back down, a rise of snow flew up from the ground like dust from the plains on a dry season. He lay on his side and eyes her through his right eye. "You're no traveler." He scoffed, laying his head down on a paw. "You're no traveler if you find comfort in the word home. The stars are a wanderer's home. As long as I can see the sky I don't need nothin' else."

It was a philosophy Bastien kept to himself. It was the life of a loner; it was the life he lived and loved. Nothing to hold him down and order him around. He could eat, sleep, hunt, or shit when and where he wanted. "I'll tell you where to go. Pick a direction." He paused and let out an exaggerated sigh. "...and keep going."