Ravensblood Forest palm to palm is holy palmer's kiss

The days grew shorter with the coming of winter. The swarthy beast felt the quiet of the forest not just as the group of gathered wolves went about their days by keeping to themselves, but also the solitude that seemed to come with the season where everything became frozen. His breath was visible in the bitter air, and the Mayfair gave a gentle chuff, coming across the scent of Samothes.

Quickening his pace, the shadowrunner lumbered in the direction of the pale wolf, his fiery eyes falling upon the drifter with careful study. He announced his presence with another chuff, his muzzle canting lightly as he made to close the distance between the two. "Samothes," he greeted, his tone a quiter rumble.