Whitebark Stream the white wolf

he cannot help but be amused by the raven's assault of the girl. his stalker. their stalker, he supposed; the raven would see it that way. blackfell lifts a brow to quirk at her curiously, before stepping forwards, over the thin stream.

striding closer to the white girl in the dead shrubs. mm. he grunts, letting eyes waltz across her. pathetic little thing. little muscle mass, long legs and a soft body.

he laughs at her.

you need it. he says with a sneer of his lip. the raven caws and swoops back down to perch itself upon blackfell's shoulder. grudgingly staring at the little wolf.