Blackfeather Woods the good, the bad, the crazy

The journey from the bypass back to Blackfeather Woods was long and exhausting. Ramsay, who had done no hunting at all at his age, had to get by on scraps that Euron and possibly Maegi managed to fish up. Hunger nipped at his belly and dogged his every step, making his focus wane over time. A few times he lost the scent in his distraction, but always he managed to pick it up again. He had been born with a grotesque figure with different limitation than normal wolves, but Mephala had granted him in exchange an excellent schnoz for picking up even the faintest scent trails.

Once within Blackfeather Woods, the smell of blood and decay hit him like a wall. Being outside it for so long had taken away some of his ability to ignore the smell; he nearly gagged on it, even though it smelled like home and was a comfort as well. The war had added fresh splashes of blood to the borders, but Ramsay passed over them quickly without stopping to investigate. Cicero's scent wasn't hard to find after that, and when they tracked him to a path of blood, the pups had an easier time finding him.

Ramsay didn't know the significance of the den, but stood to the side as nimble Euron poked his head in. Only when Cicero's quiet voice echoed out from the entrance did his rounded ears cup forward and his body let go of the tension he hadn't know he was feeling.