Bearclaw Valley Jakt

They were not alone. A dark beast with oddly shaped features stood lingering in the background of their momentary conversation. Its face was dense, squashed flatter than a wolf, but it walked on four legs and carried a dark coat upon its back. Perhaps the Svartravn clan had found another creature to worship. Eventyr did not wish to speak to the strange thing. She did not trust its peculiarities enough. The dark-winged raven cawed again.

Eventyr swiveled a single ear in the direction of the not-wolf. Her eyes remained fixed on the peculiar coat variations in the woman across from her. In their homeland, this wolf would be considered a travesty.

You are… one of the cursed ones, hm?

Though her tone remained rather icy, Eventyr tried to keep her eyes from traveling to the dark marring of her otherwise pale coat. Their feuds had proven something curious. When a wolf was born sharing the colors of both the Svartravn and Kvitravn clans, they were usually cast out. Was that this stranger’s reason for being in new land?