Blackfeather Woods from above

Ramsay took his time slaking his thirst before responding to the border call. He'd been mid-drink when Kaertok's voice stirred the ravens overhead, and chose to finish before straightening and heading for the borders. His approach was proud and stern, as it always was. He kept his stunted figure held high, his bob of a tail lifted as much as it could be, and his face was arranged into a cool mask of contemplation.

He very nearly missed Jakoul in the shadows as he arrived, and not only because she was as dark as the deepest woods. She was small compared to the hefty white male standing at their borders. Ramsay was certain that Wintersbane would stand above this man, if he was still present, but there was something about Malrok that just seemed to loom. For his part, Ramsay knew nothing of the severe culture of Tartok or what kind of wolves it churned out; he only knew an intimidating male when he saw one, because most of Blackfeather's denizens were the opposite.

No less dangerous... but not physically intimidating like this guy. Blackfeather Woods, he quietly supplied the answer, pricking his ears and settling his dark gaze on Kaertok's face. What can we do for you?