Blackfeather Woods The thorns

If Rouge took any notice whatsoever of Ramsay's deformed body, she didn't react to it. That was new—almost everyone reacted, whether in small ways or large ones—so for a time he watched her narrowly, suspicious. At length he decided it didn't really matter. If there was any other wolf in the world that looked like him, Ramsay was willing to bet they would do anything to be treated as unremarkable. He, on the other hand, liked getting a reaction. He liked feeling like he scared others.

It was his thrill, but he was denied it this time.

"Yes," he replied, and found he had nothing else really to talk about. So Ramsay moved on, at least out of the flower patch, and turned back in the shadow of the trees instead to regard Rouge's flank. "Woods are dark," the dwarf told her, conversationally, though that was so obvious that even Sherlock Holmes would groan at it. "Monsters live in the dark," he went on, and flicked an ear forward in wait of how she would react to that.