He can see when the child sees him that it is not what the little tyke had planned for his excursion into the wilds. Ah, what it was like for a child to regret the presence of an adult. It makes him feel old and that amuses him quite a bit. “Huh? No.” he receives in reply, amusing him only more - even if he is more tactful than to look or sound it.
He remains low, his large size made small by how he tucks his legs and keeps his head low. “Who're you?”
“Ah yes,” he says slower, aware that she had not seemed overly attentive to his speech and feeling perhaps it was an impediment easily circumvented with a bit slower speech and easier managed with how his voice often rumbled with it’s bit of depth. “Excuse my manners. I am Roman. And you?” he tilts his head, offering the lilt of tone but also the expression on his face.
His eyes fall to the dismembered stick, then back up to the youth again. “Fancy a bit of rabbit instead? I find bone is better than stick… you know, for getting proper gnawing done.” He knows it would be easy to follow through, and perhaps would break the ice. Food was often, in their mutual homeless position (her scent was of so many places at once that it could not be a pack’s child… right?), a hot commodity, after all.
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