Blackfeather Woods They will make you an exhibit

The border incident had both heightened Ramsay's interest in the outer lands and tempered it. For several days after, he stuck close to the center of the territory, frequenting the glen more than he had since first abandoning it, partly for fear of another menace finding him out there and partly to recharge. Incidentally, this was what brought him face-to-face with Blackfeather Woods' infiltrator.

Of course, nobody knew Étoille's ironic purpose in the assassins' woods, least of all a two month old squirt like Ramsay. He found himself on a trail of an unidentifiable nature—by now he was familiar with the smell of every wolf who called the woods home but for the newcomers—and, finding that following it was an inborn inclination, he hurried along it with a scamper of overlarge paws, strides short and rapid, as was usual for him.

The slow-moving wolf at the end of the trail didn't seem so out of place. Every member of the woods was black, white, or some shade in between. There wasn't a single member among their ranks who sported a coloured coat, a fact which kept the crimson stranger from the outlands keenly imprinted in Ramsay's mind. Étoille was just like the other members of the pack, his face mask seeming black in the gloom of the forest, and that put Ramsay at ease enough to noisily approach. Euron would have stolen up on silent cats' paws, but Ramsay wasn't so quiet even when he tried his best, and he certainly wasn't trying now.

Dropping his battish ears back so the tips dangled over his arched shoulders, Ramsay wiggled his tail poof and said, "hi!"