Flycatcher Downs Heaven knows that I'm born too late for these ghosts that I chase

His rounded ears twitched to capture Euron's dulcet tone, and he considered those words for a moment before tossing them aside. He didn't consider their dynamic one of a leader and follower, but an equal give and take. Euron excelled in areas that Ramsay couldn't dream of mastering, and Ramsay had his own skills, albeit less discrete ones. He was the muscle to Euron's cunning, and had a way about him that seemed to make others shrink in their wake. There was a touch of the Melonii arrogance there, too, but only a touch. They complemented one another and no one followed the other, in his eyes.

The brush of Euron's toes on his rump earned a playful snap as the dwarf spun on a dime, showing off his own brand of agility, developed to cope with his deformity. So far it hadn't hindered him in life, although it always amused him when others backed away or watched with horrified eyes. He relished the power of their fear and disgust. "Pups," he noted too on the wind, though it changed nothing. They weren't ones to steal nestlings, but it meant the pack had more to contend with than just guarding their borders. It might leave them open.

"Come then," said the stunted wolf, giving the mountains one last glance before plodding along to the north. Yes, they would go there soon enough. Anticipation warred with trepidation when he thought of that place, but like Euron, he knew they needed to go there rather than wanted to. There was an opportunity there. But first, he and his brother needed to think on their direction. To do that, they needed full bellies. And full bellies awaited them at the end of this risky venture, so they headed north, to where the smell of wolves originated.