Ravensblood Forest I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.

oof. i'm sorry he's decided to be a rudeboi today. x-x *smacks wintersbane with a rolled up newspaper*

wintersbane ventures further than he intends to. he has no love lost for the coast. he's not fond of sand and tends to stay well away from the beaches and sea itself. yet, it feels good to stretch his legs before he digs into blackfeather woods. he already has begun to but he takes the liberty of enjoying his freedoms to venture beyond and explore ...because that was the only way wintersbane was going to keep from feeling trapped: by proving to himself that he isn't. the tundrian has a keen eye on the ranks of the dark brotherhood however, and when he sets about to completing the tasks to earn his way into it he will set aside his explorations unless required of him.

he approaches ravensblood forest mostly out of muted curiosity. last he knew, a pack he'd briefly pledged himself to had been trying to form here ...but that had been some time ago. he'd been but a boy at the time and the lack of pack scent told him that it hadn't worked out. or perhaps it had and they had relocated. there is something about this particular forest that draws him in, ignorant to the complicated history and war that lies between his family and blackfeather woods that the ancient sentinels hold. that if not for it, he'd have been born among these very bleeding sequoias.

he ventures forward, unbothered by darkened forest, surprised to run into another so soon as he begins his venture towards the territory's heart. her scent is that of a pack's territory wintersbane had passed around to get to the forest but it is not full wolf. neither does she look like a wolf. definitely not a coywolf ( for he, himself is part coywolf ). as his glacial gaze takes her in, it lingers on her flopping ears. and as he lets out a low chuff to announce his presence to her, the question ( that he recognizes is incredibly rude ) "what is wrong with your ears?" smooth. one asshole point for wintersbane. there's arturo's influence in him. right there. still, it unnerves the tundrian for some unexplainable reason and his silvered-blue nape hairs prickle with uncertainty as he tries to make sense of what is mixed in her blood if not coyote.