Permafrost Hollows my bones do not taste of crown and silver

Warbone nodded once, punctuating the affirmation with a snort. "I shall await your call," he mused, pale eyes drifting slowly towards the burlier of the black she-wolves, and freely exploring her traits in a self-interested fashion. The stare was but a fraction of a moment, and he was already turning from the females, already plotting his next forty-eight hours as a stint to prepare for their journey. But nothing would go right if he didn't find an excellent place to sleep that night— leaving him well-rested for a (predicted) successful hunt the following morning— so he figured he should get started on his search. "Enjoy the night," he purred, drifting away in rhythmic plodding.