Bramblepoint know who you are

Cypress waited patiently to be addressed or acknowledged in some way — Tryp’s trial, after all, had been his idea — but the silver-saddled flibbertigibbet ignored the raven entirely. The eldest Frostfur considered sulking about it — or at least calling attention to the fact that it sure didn’t sound like “we can all go for the kill together,” included him in the slightest, but he didn’t particularly feel like wasting his breath. What he did register was a swift and sudden drop in his estimation of the older wolf, and his obsidian-feathered tail flicked irritably as he fixed the stranger with a baleful sulphureous stare. At Rian’s urging, he fitted himself to the chocolate-and-espresso male’s shadow, mirroring the jade-eyed hunter’s every motion.

Cypress was a good pupil, and he mapped the way Rian kept his eyes on the sheep and seemed to melt across the earth. Well enough — he could do that, too. He had a natural aptitude for moving swiftly and silently, and his dark pelt proved useful as he crouched beside the O’Malley. There, he waited further instruction from his cousin.