The Heartwood a wild weird clime, that lieth, sublime

Though he wasn’t an excessively dominant wolf, Cypress found himself appeased by the silver-furred male’s show of submission. “Thanks,” he intoned quietly, easing up on his posturing a little, “and sorry. It’s not for me or I’d ask if you wanted to share.” Rannoch would know best what to do with this meat, as they didn’t presently have a cache to speak of. The raven watched curiously as Liffey’s twin — Lagan, he reminded himself — gave a good-natured sigh, and a roguish half-grin played about the rightmost corner of his mouth. “Sounds like you get that a lot,” he mused in a curious baritenor that scaled up just slightly at the tail of his sentence — not quite a question but near enough. “I’m Cypress Frostfur. I met her awhile ago, when she got into some trouble with a wolverine. Seems she’s all fixed up now.”

Normally Cypress liked his secrecy, and wouldn’t have dreamed of bringing an outsider to the band’s current hideaway — but he was a brother, too. He knew what it was like to look for someone and come up short. He thought probably Rannoch and Rian would understand if he brought Lagan to where Liffey currently was, and maybe that was naïve of him — but he loosed the tension from his muscles with a mighty shake, his wild eldritch fur settling into a new manner of disarray, and offered, “If you want, I can take you to Rannoch or Rian. She’s probably around here somewhere, but I haven’t seen her in a bit.”