Blackfeather Woods there is something rotten in the state of Denmark

Why? came the quiet, calm voice from the shadows as Ramsay emerged, raising his short ears with interest. He spared Titmouse a cursory glance, noting that something seemed off about the then-Decima. He would need to ask about it later. Here was no place to show any sort of discord between the pack leaders, even though the knowledge that Mou had slaughted a number of crows and upset their resident ghoul still weighed heavily on Ramsay's mind. The subtlest narrowing of his eyes was the only indication that he seemed uneasy; he turned back to Cassiopeia with a thin, but warm smile.

When last we spoke, you claimed this could never be your home. He withheld any hint of accusation from his tone. Ramsay wasn't trying to call her out, but he recalled her reluctance to return here and thought it suspicious that she was doing exactly that now. His eyes shifted to the swell of her sides, but if he recognized what that meant, he gave no indication. The truth was, he didn't. What has changed? And will whatever it is follow you here to wreak havoc on us?