There was turmoil here, combined with a kind of emptiness that the boy found to be far-reaching as he slipped betwixt the barren branches, the normally riotous ravens made oddly silent. The Raven slipped along his old trails with easy, pausing once or twice to survey an old haunt, a torn up patch of snow and blood. He was silent, simply another shadow among so many more, slipping completely into his surroundings when he found the entrance of the cave, the stone of his pelt blending seamlessly with the darkness as he paused once at the threshold, testing the familiar scent of stone and damp.

The caves to he navigated with easy, pausing here and there as scents odd and novel, yet faded, begged inspection. It was only when the boy's steel gaze had roved over the vast majority of the tunnel system, his paws carried him long ways under the earth, that he emerged from Wolfskull. His sister had proved as incompetent as thought, then, for here existed the territory that they had inhabited for longer than the boy had lived, made impure by the presence of blood, of outsider and of failure. 

Once more did the boy survey the wood, oddly still as optics carved a path through the trees, finding nothing of interest save a single, watching raven. For a moment beady black met iced steel, and then the bird moved deeper into the shadows with a few wingbeats, the sound renting the silence of the wood he had once called home. Certain, now, of his sister's failings and the fate of the wood, the boy turned north, steps soundless as he searched now for the woman he called mother.