Ravensblood Forest The village school is cold and still.

the growing roots of ironclan firmly in place, wintersbane no longer feels so needled at the idea of stepping out of his own claim beyond the sentinels, which he haunts frequently to keep a close eye on the rutting deer that occupy it for the interest of feeding the bellies of his ranks. he seeks outward now, not wishing umbra to have all the glory of recruitment; paws carrying him towards the place that was his almost birthright.

though wintersbane was quick to cast away the strath despite that it was where his mother’s body was lain to rest.



a song carries thru the bleeding trees; an unfamiliar scent that carrying over the sweet cloy of sticky tree sap and sharp tang of pine needles. a small shudder slithers its way down the hale tundrian’s spine as he recognizes the words; following the baritone melody as if it were a siren call.

it harkens to a simpler time when he was but a cub and the nightingale queen would sing him ( and siblings ) a lullaby.

wintersbane makes no effort to conceal his footsteps as he draws nearer and nearer, shrugging past the thick underbrush. the stranger looks similar to him in appearance, similar to lotte. an invisible hand grasps wintersbane’s throat; tight with emotion.

tiedätkö kielen? for in all of wintersbane’s life in these wilds ( and even the time he spent outside of them, brief as they always were ) he heard none other than lotte speak it.