Sheepeater Cliff Outrunning karma, that boy, he's such a charmer

He cupped his ears abruptly to his rear when Averna's shrill bark echoed out across the ridge, and swung around nearly as quickly. Age had only lent to his ability to make up for his deformity—now he could turn with the slightest flicker of his paws, giving the impression that, rather than rotating, Ramsay simply inverted his entire stunted body through itself. He hardly noted the ram as he went, too intent on finding whoever had made that noise.

It was impossible to miss the bright white coat of the caller, even against a backdrop of snow. His indigo eyes fixed on her and he knew, instantly, that there was something weird about her. It came from a lifetime of essentially fending for himself, this perceptiveness; he'd had to be highly alert at all times, especially once Cicero had left them, to survive. But the airiness that was the mark of a wolf with one paw in the mortal world and one outside it, Ramsay mistook to mean Averna was rather unintelligent, and that was only confirmed when she suddenly started moving toward the ram.

He didn't know why he intervened. He didn't care about wolves besides himself and his siblings, and ordinarily felt a thrill when others were in fearful predicaments that he got to witness. Maybe it was because she wasn't afraid at all. Whatever the case, Ramsay threw himself in a run, intent on intercepting the little ghost before she could get herself—or him—hurt or killed. By now the ram had likely detected a threat and was preparing to charge, or had already, but his eyes were on Averna rather than the heavy ungulate, leaving him open to being butted.