Ravensblood Forest My new favorite place

The slate creature before him seemed to have a tongue on him; Kierkegaard flattened his ears to his skull and reeled his lips over his fangs to show that he was not impressed with this brute’s verbiage or his manners. Lashing his tail from side to side, the ghostly figure lifted his skull upwards and leered at the stranger who was making a show of his physicality. It did nothing to phase the ashen loner; puffing his chest and digging his claws into the earth did little more than make the ghostly creature laugh. His chuckle filled his chest and rumbled into the air bitterly and without second thought.
 
“You do not have a claim on these lands,” he spat coldly to the slate creature. The hackles on his back were rising to meet the challenge of the other wolf. There was a savagery in the fire of his eyes, and he instinctively looked to the places where the bone jutted out on the other male. Kierkegaard was not physically well either… the famine had done more to him than take the meat from his bones.
 
Starvation had taken a piece of his sanity.