my life is kinda boringneed something that i can confess
Skoll bit his tongue when the young man let out a "whoa," his gingery ears falling back against his head sheepishly. It was a wonder he wasn't constantly instructed to breathe or quit vibrating or something similar every second of the day, but his curiosity was only as strong as any other puppy around his age. The fact that this was one of the first outsiders he'd ever met only lent to his interest, as well as Frodo's apparent knowledge of everything from a dictionary worth of vocabulary to the fall of the human named Caesar. Despite his outgoing personality, the young Haskel was also more acquainted with the land and the various places to get in trouble rather than his comrades; most didn't have time to babysit the pup when the war was going on, and so that left him thirsty for stories.
Beaming, the puppy waited patiently -- or patiently enough not to wriggle and squirm and whine, though his eyes might have reached out and grabbed and shaken Frodo's brain to get the information out -- and wagged his tail once his first of a dozen questions was answered. "Like a movin' pack?" he asked, tilting his head; this question carried less intensity and would be answered easily enough by a nod or shrug, as he was already trying to sort this with everything else he'd learned so far today. The trading reminded him of the artisan pack in the northwest, but as far as he knew, they were normal and stayed still like everyone else. Otherwise, they would be called gypsies too.
He frowned at mention of the bad guys that had taken over AniWaya. "My daddy kick 'em out," he informed the curly-haired wolf, that frown turning into a tiny grin. "AniWaya all better now? Bad guys no hurt an'body?" His perception of the Tribe, conjured from eavesdropping on harsh whispers and forming nightmares from the scarce information, was beginning to change quite quickly. Had he been older, his prejudices might have lingered longer -- but Frodo had proven to be really nice, and so had Lady Lohi, and now he was being told that the bad guys had been a separate entity after all. He would have to ask more about that later, provided he didn't forget as soon as he went back home.
The foreign word launched at him made his green eyes widen, and his tongue twisted in his mouth at the notion of trying to pronounce the name. The translation made a lot more sense, and he shook his head lightly. Though he knew a smattering of French as well as the puppy-babble that made up a lot of his and his siblings' talk, this strange language for ranks the Tribe had adopted seemed silly. It was weird enough to know that they had ranks unlike Cour des Miracles did, though if he had a mind to, he might have been able to draw the parallels -- but the complications of social structure wasn't something the cub wanted to worry about right now.
"Good at huntin' rabbits?" Skoll mumbled, his words slurring as his eyelids drooped suddenly. He hadn't even realized that he'd been getting tired, but the cause was apparent on the horizon: something that Frodo took note of. The puppy went limp once his scruff was grabbed, and he blinked at the young man once more until they approached the horse. At that point, he was able to fend off his sleepiness for a bout of excited whimpering as he stared at the stallion, smelled the stallion, settled in the saddle bag attached to the stallion.
"Cheval!" the golden puppy squealed, and he shifted around in the saddle bag excitedly, though he wasn't able to squirm enough to fall out. He spent more time staring at the horse than at their surroundings from then on, amazed by the prospect of being close to an actual breathing horse! He tried to explain his excitement to his newfound friend, but it came out in a long, breathy babble: "Neverevertoolittleneverbeenahorse!"
And then he proceeded to pass out snoring.
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