Blackfeather Woods i have drunk the blood of kings

Ramsay was patrolling as usual when he came across the burly northerner frequenting the borders. It was impossible to tell from Wintersbane's physique that there was any mixed blood in him at all; he seemed very much a purebred wolf, which was good, because Ramsay didn't much like hybrids. He thought of coyotes as filthy creatures and didn't understand why any wolf should stoop that low.

Anyway.

There was Wintersbane in all his frosted blue-grey glory, and Ramsay the dwarf felt weirdly inadequate in comparison, but didn't let it show. He wasn't unaware that his sister had had a less-than-pleasant conversation with Wintersbane, although he didn't know the specifics. Ramsay liked to know things, but not in so much detail. He hefted his figure and pressed onward, refusing to allow these thoughts to show on his face, and stopped just shy of the man's path before calling out a soft, good morning.