Hickory had heard the word Moladion before – Ibis had mentioned it – and he had always assumed it to be the name of the giant crater where he had spent all of his time since arriving in this new place. Having been born in the Valley by the Lowest Mountain and Halved by the Wide River, the red wolf is not entirely sure why someone would name a place like they would name a pup. How would someone describe their home? How would they know how to find it if they were ever to wander? It seems silly, but not quite as odd as the description that the white wolf adds after giving his own name.

The young wolf tilts his head rather far to the left with a curious whine, and his flop ear appears almost whole as it dangles at the correct angle. “What’s a king?” He asks curiously. “And what’s Diveen?” He had been under the impression that no one lived in the crater, not for any long period of time, but that doesn’t quite meld with what Heyel has said. He’s not forgotten the initial question that the bigger wolf had asked, of course, but he’s aslo not entirely sure how to answer.

“You don’t win.” He says, flicking his head back and forth as he glances expectantly at the fish tail that still lies near the other wolf. “You just throw it and we chase it. And then I throw it and we chase it. And then it’s your turn to throw again.” It seems odd to explain the expectations of a game there’s never really been words applied to. The puppies always knew how it was played (though Hickory was always the one throwing, because the little ones have horrible aim and not a lot of tossing strength), and while he’s rarely been able to engage the older wolves of his pack, they had easily joined in without any explanation.