He watched her closely, perhaps closer than he might watch others for in his eyes, his mother had the ideal demeanour that he wished to emulate; she was deceptively quiet, effortless in her movements and unwaveringly confident with each movement. He aspired to obtain such a skillset for whereas his father had similar qualities, his mother seemed to wear them more naturally. Enoch had always thought his father hid whereas his mother showed. He wasn't entirely sure which path he would take but for intents and purposes, he had fast found himself eager to appease his mother. If he could do that, he supposed, then he might be able to please his sister, and by extension Natiya, too.

So when she placed the feathers down, he moved to follow her actions identically, mirrored down to the movement of his paws before he placed the bone in the centre of them. He paused to sniff at the feathers, using his muzzle to displace several so that they might fan out more, their softness causing him to suppress a sneeze before he withdrew. As she lifted up the leaf, he grinned, a small and hesitant thing as his tail waved in sync. Then he motioned with his paw, scratching the earth slightly where he believed it best to place it.

For a moment, he paused, his head slowly turned to either side as his eyes narrowed in thought. And then, he moved suddenly, jerking towards the wall of the den and picking at the earth; a peculiar stone, faintly cream in colour, had caught his attention. He clutched it between his teeth before he then placed it on their makeshift pheasant, pleased with his efforts. "It doesn't look so tasty," a joke, a rare thing in his family, yet he grinned nonetheless. He had heard the other children speak in such a way - to jest and poke at one another so why not him? He sought normality at times, exceptionalism at others. For now, he simply wanted to make his mother happy.

An idea struck him then, and his smile had fast turned to mischief. He eyed one of the larger feathers and gently plucked it from the ground; with a quick glance to his mother to confirm that he might be permitted to approach, he scooted towards her. Slowly, he did his best to work the feather into one of the knots in her fur. Though it hung perhaps a bit loosely and crookedly, it hung from her nonetheless. "No more a wolf but a pheasant." He fell into a play bow then, ears back and eyes narrow in feigned concerntration - a child's attempt at a hunter's pose.