Ravensblood Forest the blood and the crow

The forest bleeds, unassisted by his own fangs. It is a beautiful sight in the macabre perspective of the strigoi, though he knows that he cannot take from it. He drinks in the sight nonetheless, appreciating the crimson beads of sap on the bark of the trees as he passes through in search of refuge from the sun's rays as it trickles through the canopy.

It is early autumn, so he can see the breath as it exits his nostrils. He huffed in response to the sight of a dark wolf marking a tree with his claws. It was an action with a clear motive; claiming. He approaches cautiously, making his movements obvious and loud before speaking. Is this place yours then? He queries the younger wolf, leaving his stance neutral.