Ravensblood Forest We're bound to break and my hands are tied.

His brows were furrowed as he stared out toward the direction of the sea, knowing that while the waves were hidden from his view currently in the thick trees, that the scent of the saltwater encased the sequoias with its own dominant presence. What had once felt like a vast opportunity for the wolves of the forest had quickly become encased – the coast had become popular over the last few months, and while he wasn’t sure of the exact number of packs that had settled, he wasn’t keen on scouting them out, either.
 
It might not have disturbed him only a month ago – but now, with Durnehviir pregnant with his pups, and the small number within their ranks becoming glaringly obvious to any that might wish to rid the forest wolves for potential hunting grounds, he felt less risk adverse than he had before.
 
Turning, the swarthy wolf swept through the forest, his features stoical as his nose flared, seeking the she-wolf who weighed heavily on his mind constantly. He trailed after her – it seemed she had moved a lot throughout the day. But finally his fiery eyes fell upon the flames of her own pelt, appreciatively studying the gentle swell of her belly and feeling a surge of something powerful – protective nature, certainly, but more – love? She captivated him, and he finally moved toward her once more, his paws silent on the forest floor, though he made no motion to hide his presence. He uttered a low crooning noise from the back of his throat, sidling up to the she-wolf, his nose trailing the side of her pregnant belly as he inhaled sharply. “Durnehviir,” he greeted, his eyes flicking up to meet hers.