Ravensblood Forest the moon lives in the lining of your skin

The scent and murmurings of the unfamiliar drew him forward – his hackles bristled, and he felt his lips pull upward in a silent snarl. He swept forward throughout the bleeding forest, one ear tipping to the sound of a raven as it sounded out its own discontent at the intruders. He seen the svelte form of Durnehviir, and with a possessive concern, the shadow runner brushed against her softly as he pulled up behind her, his eyes set upon her before drifting back to the wolves that stole through their ongoing claim.
 
Their voices were soft, and he could not fully make out their words to one another – but their intention as clear as a young she-wolf began to lead them forward. Tipping his nose to brush at Durnehviir’s cheek, he brushed his lips to her ear. “Stay here, please,” he murmured quietly, unwilling to place her in any danger.
 
Moving forward, the Regal stalked toward the group, his own form lifting in the dominance of the reigning scent among the trees they now tried to steal through. “Can I help you?” He was unwilling to be walked over – but there was also little he could do with four versus one, and so he took in the scenario, calculating his options with a stoical mask.