Blackfeather Woods people are particularly stupid today; i can't talk to any more of them

a call rises from the borders and wintersbane, already close, makes his way to answer it with a stir of curiosity beneath his breast. hostility has taken root there — he's always been territorial but the latest events only appeared to have nurtured this — only to soothe once he shrugs through the dark branches, slipping out of the darkest shadows with disregard as his glacial gaze falls upon the one who called. she may be dressed in fires like the woman that had escaped from them — could've been her daughter, easily — but she is young. still a child. wintersbane isn't good at telling specific ages by sight alone but he doubts she's even seen her first birthday yet.

his posture relaxes as he draws nearer, salmon pink tongue swiping across his jowls. the dark brother initiate knows that there are protocols and he is meant to be the big bad wolf that haunts the shadows of nightmares to children and adults alike but ...but as an aspiring cubsitter that just doesn't sit well with him. and she's obviously nervous ( if not frightened ). part of him thinks she is wise to be scared, uneasy: she is alone on the doorstep of one of the oldest and most ill-reputed pack in these wilds.

hello, the tundrian breaks the silence, smoky voice taking a softer tone. a tone he used with tywyll and oft uses with astara — unless she's trying to munch his ear off, 'course. then he gets a bit snippy about it — a tone meant to be non-threatening. despite what may say otherwise the girl is in no danger from him. wintersbane allows the pause to continue here, unsure of what he wants to say. a few things come to mind but after a quick analysis he assumes that everything that flitted to his mind might only make her more nervous.

why have you called? he asks instead, non-accusingly. he asks it simply out of curiosity ...because this situation was, undoubtedly, curious.