Tuktu Weir nothing like a big bad bridge

As always, Ravinger relished in the attention.  He grinned, all teeth, and allowed his own tail to wag.  It never got old, performing in front of other wolves.  He would never understand the need to practice brute strength or cunning when he could merely use his voice.  Singing songs and making wolves laugh was much more interesting than scarring their minds or bodies.  

"Never had it, actually," he confessed when pressed on what moon sugar cane was. "I've heard that it's a fermented delicacy in a land far from this place.  We never had it back in old Kingslend, either, see, but one of my mentors came from a distant territory where they did," Ravinger cocked his head to the side, brows lifting. "Where did you roam before you joined us, Henryk?"