The question that comes to him has him shrugging. "Prey can only ignore food for so long," Wilder insinuates that anyone would fall for a trap. How could they not? You put out what they want and eventually, they will investigate it. Was that not how it worked? He mulls over his words for a moment as he comes to fully face the man. "Unless you don't know what they want," the boy pauses, his head tilting slightly. What a predicament that would be, eh? "Hey, listen, lie in wait, sniff them out, or lay a trap, whatever you choose, from the looks of it, they're gonna give you a run for your chow," he nods his head to the fading trail of paw prints in the sand. "Not sure 'bout you though, but this sun is killin' me," his nose wrinkles before he starts off toward the east where he had appeared from. "Good luck, mister," Wilder gives him an awkward and wag of his tail before disappearing over a sand dune.
