Emberwood and he sang about what i'd become

caw stares at her, almost excited, waiting for another response to his words. when it comes -- it is also correct, though caw isn't exactly certain why she refuses to use latin in response. it is, after all, the proper language, and to speak english instead of latin when there is perfectly good opportunity to do so is...it is not forbidden, he supposes, because this is not his family, but it certainly lowers his opinion of her.

he wrinkles his nose in her direction. she does not seem particularly interested in his prey, either, even as it stills in the snow; caw's head snaps to the side as its movements in the corner of his eye cease, and all at once, with a shudder, it goes completely limp, wings splaying across the snow. the soft twitch of what is almost a smile curls the edges of his lips, peeling back briefly to expose a flash of teeth, before his attention returns to the wolf.

he blinks at her. "nomen mihi est caw!" he wags his tail once, and gestures with his muzzle to the crow watching from his shoulder. "hic est avis."

raven now forgotten, caw inches forwards, nostrils flaring as he sniffs curiously at her, completely ignoring any concept of personal space. there is something else in her fur that is not just wolf, that feels like pack, though caw has not yet noticed any borders nearby.

he cocks his head again, this time the other way. "unde es? quid grax?"