Blackfeather Woods But are not the dreams of poets and the tales of travellers notoriously false?

Ramsay got enough time to raise his leg and mark four more trees before he crossed paths with Tundra. He wasn't expecting to find anyone else on the edge of the forest, and for a moment he had to wrack his brain and try to remember if this was one of Maegi's comrades. But, no; Titmouse was more recognizable even from a distance, and Flicker was presumably gone back to wherever the rest of his disowned clan resided. Besides, Tundra's pelt was the colour of snow, lacking any of the ruddy tones that either of Maegi's friends had.

That wasn't what Ramsay focused on, however. Instead, he was drawn to a pair of large, darkly expressive eyes that seemed colourless in the shadow of the trees. They were narrowed on him, and he paused in his tread to regard her with a cool, guarded expression. It was nothing personal. Ramsay couldn't help but keep a wall up around himself these days. You stand at the edge of Blackfeather Woods, he announced quietly, fixing her with a questioning look. May I be of assistance?