Blackfeather Woods From even the greatest of horrors irony is seldom absent

Ramsay meant to be present for the birth of her whelps as well, but instead he had been beyond the pack's borders, scouting the nearby creek and checking on the ice melt. The water was now accessible, and @Moonshadow now had three children that slept peacefully in the depths of Blackfeather Woods. Absentminded as he was these days, Ramsay only heard it through the grape vine some days later. Guiltily he sought out something to bring, and eventually secured a fat toad.

Not the best of meals to many inland wolves, but to a swamp wolf like Ramsay, it was delectable.

He crouched outside the den where she and her whimpering cubs presumably lay, the picture of submission. He may have been Blackfeather Woods' Morta, but here at the den of a new mother, he was the subordinate. Moonshadow? Are you in? he called softly into the darkness, pressing his paw down on the dead toad's slick back to keep it from tumbling into the den. It's Ramsay.