Tyrion was never an oblivious wolf. Rather, he could be quite disarming and very charming on most occasions. Let his stalker come to him, the dwarf had decided as he hummed his little ditty. His tail swayed back and forth naturally to his gait. His ears twitched. His follower was moving quicker now, he noted. The golden blonde male paused. His mis-matched eyes darted about only to see Eztli now charging towards him.

His instinctive reaction was to pin his ears back and bare his fangs. The old man tilted his head slightly at the rather aggressive boy. Not but maybe a year older than his own children. Then again, Tyrion was old enough to be the boy's grandfather by the looks of it. The golden male relaxed rather quickly. He preferred not to stay in such defensive posture. It was bad on his joints in his old age. His ears perked back up, though he was still quite mindful of his position. Thankfully, even grown he was a bit shorter than Eztli, which kept most of his vital parts safe with little effort.

The impish male raised a brow slightly. Stop? Stop what exactly, he wondered. All he had been doing was walking and humming, but he was do neither of those now. "Stop what, young man?" he inquired. His tone was firm, but not harsh. Instead, it was merely a question as he observed the young wolf before him: his posture, his appearance, his tone, his smell. Much could be deciphered from an outward appearance, but more so when they spoke. "Or do you intend to stop everything that is me where I stand?" he stated as much as asked.

He doubted the boy was an assassin sent for him. Maybe a young one in training, but he was most certainly a target of opportunity rather than an intentional one. Tyrion eyed Eztli curiously, pondering all the possibilities.