Ravensblood Forest the blood and the crow

His approach was unwelcomed, it seemed. The true marker of a claimant. The young man's body was tense at first, but after a brief moment of observing the strigoi, he relaxed. Athan kept his gaze level, though now the man was facing him, he allowed himself a brief glance over. The man was stocky, caped in black with fires burning in his eyesockets. And he was alone. The last fact struck him as odd; why make claims with only one wolf? Surely he had others, followers perhaps to help bolster the claim he made; why else mark the tree so assuredly.

His name was Constantine. Athan nodded to him and offered his name in return. Athanasius Moroii, It felt like it had been so long since he had properly introduced himself. The situation seemed right, not fitting the casualness of simply "Athanasius" or just "Athan". Is this a place for the winter, or something more? It was hard to tell at this time of the year. Many winter packs, the pragmatic sort at least, formed at around this time to prepare for the coming winter, establishing a hold and fattening up, holding out until the thaw came. He would not mind joining a group of that kind, at least not at first. He was still confident in his own abilities to hunt for himself (and just himself, this winter), too much so to truly consider joining any pack, let alone this young man's.