Blackfeather Woods a haunt of roulette dares

The woods were lovely, dark, and deep — and he had places to be, things to piss on. Not so poetic, but it had to be done.

Mou was tired of being in the dark; the early morning light had a hard time penetrating the canopy but what meagre light there was, somehow filtered in to the hidden entryway for the caves. It was enticing. It felt like there was a presence calling to him, whispering in that light — and the boy's first thought was of Relmyna, which made little sense. He had never heard her voice; she had never heard his either, come to think of it. He was tired, having spent the night mapping the caves and making sure the tunnels were legitimately safe to stay in, and by morning he was aching for sleep.

But the voice called, and he crept to the light. When a shudder of air whipped through the trees, the light became a concentrated beam and he winced back from it as if wounded - but then things settled, and he could slink from the cave without blinding himself. There were a few fuzzy spots in his vision but they faded with his blinking, and soon he'd forgotten all about the blinding light; the voice remained curiously familiar, but with the calming of the air it seemed like he wouldn't be privy to the message after all.

Mou lingered for a moment in the shadows. Overhead there were crows and ravens squabbling for turf - or so he suspected, the crows being plentiful and loud while the ravens were much more intimidating with their silence - and he watched them for a bit, until the scent of something alien hit his nose. The urine stain wasn't fresh, but it was like a black mark upon the base of the tree. He looked around as he approached it, but saw no sign of Ramsay or Maegi - and the scents around the point were unfamiliar.

He did what came naturally - he lifted a leg, and let a hot stream splatter all over the tree trunk. The relief was immediate.

With Damien's attempt to infiltrate the woods thoroughly thwarted, Ramsay spent his time searching for lingering traces of their coming. He dwelled long and often on how his uncle had penetrated so deeply past their defenses, but each time he reminded himself that it didn't make a difference in the end. Blackfeather Woods' guardians had prevailed. All that was left to do was remove the stains made by the invaders, and lucky for the mercenary, they hadn't accomplished much in way of marking prior to leaving.

The scents were concentrated most around the Melonii's entrance to the web—Ramsay made a mental note that that name was no longer fitting. Melonii though he and his sister may be, they lacked the arrogance. He spent some time there, tracing the tracks of all the wolves who had saw fit to follow Damien into danger and replacing their scents with his own. By the time he finished, it was impossible to tell that anyone but Ramsay had been there.

He wound through the tunnels next, coming across Titmouse somewhat by accident when he popped out of one entryway or another. He didn't know about Maegi's conditions for the man, so he wasn't alarmed to see him out in the sun. Instead he watched quietly as Titmouse finished his business, then asked, equally quietly, they came by here too, huh? How had they gotten so far without being intercepted? He supposed none of them could be faulted for it. No wolf had eyes everywhere. But it troubled him and it showed.

With his bladder emptied there was nothing left for him to use to cover the rest of the marks, so he began to scour the dirt with his claws, gouging at it and making sure he left his scent strongly in place. He was mid-cut on another patch of ferns and dirt when the route behind him became blocked, and he twisted to watch as Ramsay emerged. The stunted body might've startled other wolves as it crept from the darkness, but it was a figure that Titmouse appreciated; he didn't see anything different about Ramsay and the rest of the pack (save for a more invested attitude, perhaps).

The boys words caused Titmouse's ears to twist, and he huffed a breath — merely trying to affirm what he'd stated. He dipped his head at the dirt and tried to draw the warrior's attention to where he'd been working — there, and there, and there, and there — his tail raising and wagging confidently as if he were saying, I'm fixing it! I'm fixing it!

His eyes followed Titmouse's gestures to damp spots in the soil, and then to signs of scraping, and he nodded his approval when the Decima's tail began to sway. Good. Soon there would be no trace left of Damien and his followers in the woods and they would secure their claim as wholly theirs. Half of him had a mind to chase down his uncle and bring him to his knees for the affront, but Ramsay was more patient than that, and knew it would only lead to repercussions for the group. Best to leave it be.

How do you suppose they slipped past us? he asked blamelessly, for if anyone should have noticed their incursion, it should have been Ramsay himself. Their territory was quite large and he didn't fault anyone for not noticing. The party had been small, perhaps, but that seemed like a misstep. Then again, the males of their family had always been quite arrogant. Perhaps they'd merely been underestimated... and Ramsay meant to ensure that never happened again. Have you noticed scents elsewhere that you'd like me to work on? he asked then, trusting his companion to better know what was needed when it came to the territory's interior.