Ravensblood Forest Will You Hold the Line?

Bones crack and splinter beneath the behemoths dangerous jaws and blood runs along his chin and lips, staining his pearly whites a dull red, almost pink color. The male lies on his side in the massive den the Saints call their own consuming his most recent kill, an unfortunate hare that nearly took out his eye. Nearly halfway through the hearty game, a far away howl breaches the silence. His head remained cranes over his meal yet calculating coin-gold hues flick up onto the horizon. Thick ears point stiffly forward and his brows pinch together wondering who could be calling them. Languidly, he stands starting at a brisk, yet easy trot towards the southern borders.

Through the slivers of thick tree trunks, he can see two figures as he grows closer. Slowing his speed to a casual walk now, the sequoias finally space out enough to reveal the wolf-dog’s form to them. The light that bounces off of his unique coat and the muscles beneath bunch and relax as he walks up to them. Paws finally plant himself in place when he reaches a comfortable fifteen feet away.

The white spots that act as brows relax and his previously neutral face easily contorts into something else. His golden orbs dance with his usual undying curiosity and the smirk that forms on his handsome face is casual, yet mysterious all together. He bears himself before them, head held high and shoulders squared, unafraid of the two that call him this day.

So as his eyes shameless rake over the two before him, they ultimately settle on the females eyes. “You called?” Is all he says.