Deepwood Weald i hate your friends and they hate me too

Youth and vigor was what he was met with, and a rather casual greeting. Pippin studied the dark wolf, keeping his features and posture neutral as his tail gave an idle flick. “Sup, sauce?”

Wraen wanted juicy gossip from the nearby packs—this guy seemed as good as any to start with. “I’m Pippin. You happen to be familiar with this area?” Whatever the Nightwalkers were—he was at least hoping to pry some information about them from someone.