King Elk Forest This poem is mournful & sentimental & filled with complaints:

From the moment he was born and abandoned by his mother, Ramsay had embodied the quintessential anarchist. He had ignored any command given him by any but Cicero and had lived by his own rules, free in the truest sense of the word. There had been no discipline in the earliest, most vital stages of his development, and thus, he was used to getting his own way. He didn't respond well to being put in his place, having never grown accustomed to it. When Queenie growled and lunged for him, he turned fangs on her just as surely as a cornered dog might turn on a trapper.

His jaws slammed shut perhaps an inch from her nose and his dark violet eyes seared into her face with a total lack of regard for her superiority and right to assert herself. He had never been disciplined by a higher ranked wolf before, never expected to submit, and so even though his instincts screamed at him to lay back his ears and slink away, he fought them because no one had ever tried to stop him from doing what he wanted before. The displeasure sat heavy in his belly.

With Euron's arrival, the boy snarled and tore away from the elk's side, hunched spine bristling high as he retreated to his sibling's side. Much of what Delight said he only partly heard; it was hard to listen while snarling at another wolf. Something about leaving. Ramsay was no stranger to traveling around at this point, and could only hope that their travels would bring them near to Blackfeather so he and his brother could go back home.

Though he wasn't sure how much a home it was any longer, not without Cicero.