Ravensblood Forest My new favorite place

The slumbering creature had been foolish to bed in open terrain without having someone to keep an eye on him. Kierkegaard had managed to startle the grey-coated wolf out of his nap and he found himself greeted with words that demanded to know why he was there and what he could have wanted. The ashen brute lowered his head towards the earth and breathed in deeply. The scent of prey was faint, but he was so ravaged by hunger that he would have believed it to be before his very eyes. Snorting, the coal-smattered wolf lifted his head upwards and peered lazily into the gaze of the other male.
 
“Food,” he answered in a guttural growl. Kierke drew his salmon-colored tongue across his muzzle and frowned heavily at this stranger. The agitation did not go unheard by the lone brute. He scowled at the grey-coated male and did not say a word more.