Blackfeather Woods That's a dance I want to see

A crow's guttural warble drew the growing dwarf's eyes up to the skeletal canopy. Blackfeather Woods was darker than usual, with heavy snow clouds low over the knitted branches. A cold calm descended over the quiet forest, broken for now only by the whispered crunch of paws in the snow. Flakes drifted lazily down between the trees, coming to rest on the cub's hunched shoulders and sloped back and lending him a frosted appearance.

He'd just concluded a lesson with Astrid on the lesser Daedric gods, those who came after Mephala and Sithis in significance and power both. He reflected on the one they associated him with—Malacath—but he couldn't draw any connections between that daedra and himself. He was at least a little aware that he was different from his siblings and other wolves, but Ramsay didn't know the full extent of it. His ability to understand why he would be associated with the patron of the rejected and damned was clouded by youth and naivety. It was a thinly veiled insult that Ramsay didn't pick up on.

Collapsing the front half of his body toward the ground to accommodate his stunted neck, Ramsay stooped to awkwardly sniff at a raised root, then resumed his quick, choppy walk, indiscriminately searching for company with inattentive ears jutting out to the sides of his head.

For @Vaati!