Ravensblood Forest a man that’s down to fight

One scent stands out from the others, winding into his nose and hooking his attention to his left. Vermouth slows to a complete stop, eyeing the stranger standing perhaps a dozen yards away. She's lissome, with fur the color of autumn leaves save for a strikingly dark mask. Her eyes stand out starkly, traversing his own figure up and down in mutual scrutiny.

"Vermouth," says the black wolf, a slight furrow knitting his dark brow at her peculiar manner of speech.

His own eyes drop to take in her palely painted toes before they drift back up to her face. There they pin. His curiosity momentarily eclipses his hunger. He supposes this territory must belong to her and her ilk.

"What's your name? Do you live here?"