Frostfire Ridge it is not meant to be

Zamael took a trio of steps back from the ledge in sardonic mollification, his eyes leveled on her as he did so. His ears swiveled as she told him the pack name. "Wow, that's a mouthful," he remarked, mouthing each syllable to himself--and surely getting them out of order. They must be quite new to the glacier; he hadn't scented them before. They seemed quite fierce, if they were getting in a tizzy over him sightseeing from all the way up here.

He tilted his head gently toward Broken Boulder. "Bracken Sanctuary," he explained, looking back at her. "We're your neighbors to the north. My brother runs the place--I'm Zamael." He stopped just short of extending her an invitation--if she wanted to come visit, she could make that decision herself. He wasn't really in the business of giving tight-ass scouts a tour around his home.