Blackfeather Woods devoted to destruction

The more his senses developed the more details he uncovered about the world. More scents. More noises. The foliage was no more a conglomerate - it was a host of shapes and sizes and textures. There was also moving life. Insects that had yet to die or hibernate. Rodents that scurried amid the tree roots and birds that roosted in the branches. The boy's mind was a ravenous one and he spent a lot of time feeding it information about his world when he wasn't pawing at his brother's snout, nipping at his sister's ear, or wrestling with a stick that looked at him the wrong way.

On this day, the pup had found a new thing. It was a black feather (ha). It had a smell and a texture and a taste that was entirely different and entirely pleasing. It was pristine - as if the bird had plucked it from its wing and let it fall to Euron intentionally. Or it had been, until the pup gnawed it, rolled on it, yipped at it, and otherwise reduced it to soggy tatters attached to an creamy opaque stem. With his initial excitement over his discovery waning, the pup hurried to show it off to his siblings.

Euron's eyes fell upon a new wolf, and his brother, as he rounded a tree nearby the den. He wedged the feather in some sphagnum growing at its base. He would share it with his Maegi or Ramsay, but not a wolf he did not know. Winding around the trees and skirting the bushes, Euron made his way forward to greet the wolf with a curious cock of his head as he took a seat beside a half-rotted log.