Ravensblood Forest a man that’s down to fight

Before she can answer him, another voice cuts into their conversation. Vermouth's flaxen eyes shift to the newcomer, who's built a lot like him: tall but lean. He looks as disheveled as the darker man presently feels, so soon after his dip. His brogue grates, causing Vermouth's ears to flick as if assaulted by a particularly bothersome fly. His words dispel any notion of familiarity with the she-wolf.

She parries first, prickling as she scolds the other man for his lack of manners. Neighbor, Vermouth notes. He marvels at the foreign way they both speak. He can't decide whether it's the same dialect or two entirely different ones. Perhaps everyone in this neck of the woods talks this way?

"We're hardly 'traipsin' on conquered lands,'" he points out mildly after the woman demands information. As he speaks, Vermouth moves to flank her, though he keeps a good yard between them. "We won't be doing any of those things, will we?" adds the black wolf, exchanging a glance with the she-wolf before staring straight into the other male's eyes.