Ravensblood Forest from silence rose a symphony

The why was unknown to him. They ravens had their secrets and woe to the wolves who thought they knew what the avians had to say and share. A rolling lift and drop of his shoulders conveyed as much. He could feel the presence of... something. Something here was significant, important. It was not the draw of the hringja, though there were similarities to it.

He listened to the tale told, catching words here and there, understanding that there was a bond of life forged between fur and feathers, different than the bond of souls that bound the pale wolf and his dark shadow but important all the same.

Stjörnuáti af Stormskýli, He would respond, dark eyes watching another raven flutter down to pick and peck at the carcass the bird-man guarded. This one and this one's bróðir search the hringja. Hrafn guide this one through. One day, be it tomorrow or many moons from now, the source of the call would reveal itself to them. Until then, they would continue on as they ever did, wandering the many lands and living amongst its wilds.

You? It was a question he had begun to master, at the very least.