Blackfeather Woods Where the wild things are

Just a note, but owls don’t ‘chirp’, aha. If anything, a barn owl’s voice can be described more as a screech. c:

The feathery creature was taken aback by the tone his response was met with, but quickly wrote it off as something to be expected. He’d been taught that most predators had an air of arrogance about them, considering themselves the best of the best and looking down on other species—even if said species was, like themselves, an apex predator. Not wanting to allow the harshness of her words to get to him, he decided to move the conversation along. Before doing so, however, he positioned himself on a lower branch, but remained far enough away so as to avoid the woman’s jaws if she decided to attack. Keyx knew better than to test such dangerous waters, and was even more influenced by the reminder of the crows that lingered in the woods. He knew not of what type of relationship they held with the wolves, and wasn’t about to have himself handed over to those pesky birdbrains.

Keyx set his obsidian gaze on the wolf’s face, head tilting slightly, but not even close to how far it could truly go. “It looks like you’ve stopped to speak to me,” he answered, knowing full well that wasn’t the response meant to be given, but not bothering to care. It’d been a long while since he allowed himself some fun, so what would the harm be in tampering with the affairs of the wolf? “Do you often stop to speak to owls? Is our knowledge something you seek?” It was true that most owls possessed intelligence far beyond that of any other, but he doubted any wolf would actually go out in search of one just to ask a question. Alas, he did not care about such things, wanting to provide himself with some amusement if permitted to.