Ravensblood Forest hippity-hop, all the way to the birdie boiler

Overhead the flutter of feathers upon the piercing wind met her ears, and she eyed the skies for the shadow she had come to familiarize herself with. It was not hard to spot the bird, which perched precariously on a bobbing limb.

Yet presently, the wolf on the ground commanded her attention. She eyed him with a sidelong glance, noting he did not carry the scent of any tell-tale denomination on his stormy pelt. She sat back and wiped her gore-ridden muzzle with a flatboned wrist, her expression somewhat wry. "Neither." She spat into the sparse snow a bloody phlegm, which welled and melted into the frozen tundra.