Ravensblood Forest from silence rose a symphony

Long moments of silence yawned between them as if a great fissure had struck the earth to separate them. His gaze did not waver, steady as a stone through a storm, taking in what information he could in the meantime. While this wolf did not seem to be responding to his statement, Stjornuati needed no confirmation; the corvid were calm in his presence, chatty and active. If they had not been, he might have understood the skilti as something more ominous and dark. But no, he stood there, blood upon his maw, feathers in his fur as if a picturesque man of the North.

Nei. A firm shake of his head. These were holy grounds. None claimed them; none should claim them. Not even the brothers had any right to them. Hrafn, He indicated the bird that flew near to him, landing in the dirt and catuiously hopping forward. Raven. Raven honor you. Stilted commonspeak, but intellegible nonetheless. Earning the trust of ravens was no small task, not because it was difficult but because most didn't think to.