Ravensblood Forest The mysterious fog in winter

The fog swirled along his paws, a reminder of how quiet the forest had become. A few of the wolves that had accepted his invitation to stay had seemingly left – he hadn’t requested their undying loyalty, and so he did not pay it much heed. Their pack was not yet established, and he only desired members that were interested in remaining – thus far, they were a small band of four.
 
Snow began to drift downward – a gentle flurry, and he released a soft chuff in to the air, watching his breath curl before him from the frost much like the white winter fog. There was a sharp thud, and then silence – a few of the ravens that flitted above the trees flapped their wings, stretching and then looking at him expectantly. He regarded them with his own fiery eyes, bemusement flickering in its depths as he heard their unspoken demand – better check it out, big guy.
 
So he prowled forward. The scent of a stranger was stronger now – but not as strong as blood. Finally, he came upon what had caused the stir of the ravens. The dark wolf lay on his back, having seemingly taken a tumble. He was unmoving, but was conscious. “You’re in the land we’re looking to claim,” he finally offered, peering down at the wolf. The old Constantine would have made a quip about the situation, but instead, he wanted to get right to the point as a frown darkened his features. “You’re bleeding. What happened?”