Phoenix Maplewood half-savage and hardy

The grey male introduced himself as Rannoch; the name suited him well enough, leaving Bronte little room for questioning it. When the male gestured toward the mountain that he had claimed, the swarthy young DeMonte turned his attention toward it with raised brows and a small nod of his skull. With the same sardonic expression, the shadow turned back to face his companion and shrugged lightly.
 
“Young for an Alpha,” he remarked with a small, twisting smirk of his lips. “I’m Bronte Atticus DeMonte.” The introduction came with a slight nod of his head. The dark wanderer had heard the name Frostfur before – it was one that had a fond light shone on it within his family. He was even certain that he’d met a few along the way, but Bronte wasn’t eager to bring up the chance for shared and tender moments with a young stranger. He was eager to know what Rannoch was made of.