Blackfeather Woods friendly neighborhood spider-man

Cyclone headed west today, up and over the mountain that protected the hollow from that side. She wanted to see what other territories lay nearby. With a quick howl to her recruits, and hoping they were nearby enough to hear it, she made her way down the mountain and across a small creek. Cyclone was in the middle of exploring it near its western edge when she reached the rather clear indicators of a pack here. Taking no risks, she meandered well away from the pack's borders, but close enough that she might be noticed if somebody was on the lookout.

wintersbane patrols and while he is quick to claim he is always vigilant upon them the truth is that he's a bit distracted. distracted by the worries of how they're planning to stay afloat when they are so close to being non-existent. his recruitment drives have been unsuccessful — which is not overly surprising to him; the odds of success haven't been high from record. not to mention the two packs gunning for their heads since mou-titmouse-screech decided to bring them a captive and then turn tail and run. war would crush them if winter didn't do it before hand.

he's distracted when he nears the section of border that the woman meanders close-ish to. her dark grey pelage nearly fades into the backdrop while his worries and swimming thoughts take forefront. it's her white stockings that catch his attention in the end and for the barest of moments he thinks of her. eirlys. his mitten twin. it's been some time since he's thought of her and he casts his glacial gaze to the stranger, realizing immediately and without a second look that she is not his long lost sister.

you did not call, the tundrian asserts, steps coming to a halt as he faces the stranger in full — at least, wintersbane was fairly sure she didn't; surely he'd have heard it — so why do you linger?

She was met by a surly dude with a strange marking on his shoulder. He was pleasant to look at, but his manners could use some refining. Oh, am I doing something wrong? she asked innocently. Cyclone was well enough away that she crossed no boundary, so what was there to complain about? Maybe I just came by to check out the goods, she added with a wry smile.

as she poses her question with an innocence that quirks his brow wintersbane contemplates it for a few seconds. was she doing something wrong? not ...as far as he could immediately see. there was ample distance between herself and the rotting and half-rotten corpses that distinctly mark their borders. the issue is wholly with wintersbane himself. he's territorial and after a surge of recent trespassers — no doubt an advantage seen and taken due to the lack of scents marking their borders a tell-tale of a pack with limited time and dwindling numbers — his attitude towards lurking strangers that do not call is churlish. he automatically suspects the worst these days. blackfeather woods has fallen from grace and thus they now wear an 'easy' target on their back ( and no he's not happy about it ).

a low huff slips from betwixt his lips; forcibly. no. an curt answer given quite reluctantly. he's not saying he wants there to be an issue but he's starting to feel restless and ...malcontent. they are familiar fiends. ah yes, the goods, he gestures to the rotting and half-rotten corpses and skeletons that mark their borders, matching her satire easily. we've got picked clean skeletons and freshly rotting to finely aged rotted corpses for your selection. wintersbane pauses and lifts his chin haughtily. i've never been a rotting corpse kinda man myself, but i hear the finely aged are the best.

Cyclone blinked when he began to speak of corpses. Either she was going crazy, or they hadn't been there a second before he started talking about them. Nevertheless, she was a wolf, a creature, and rotting things happened out here in the wild. Are you trying to attract vermin? she asked, Because that's how you attract vermin. Coyotes, vultures, raccoons, big cats, and anything else that liked to scavenge was probably going to be drawn to the smell.

Or is there some kind of sickness going around that's causing them to die? Maybe they weren't intentionally scattering dead things here, but something in the forest was killing things off. That thought was far more worrisome to her for some reason. A wolf (or even wolves) could be outrun, but sickness tended to travel from wolf to wolf without anybody realizing until it was far too late.

wintersbane's chin lifts as he regards her at her words, subtly communicating that he doesn't appreciate her comments. the snitch draws in a soft breath and regards her clinically. they're intentional. its meant to ward away the unwanted and scare off those that don't have the heart to be apart of our dark woods, he tells her defacto. and if it attracts vermin then at least we won't have a shortage of food. he adds to address her bigger point. for as long as he can remember corpses and bones have marked their borders; it was a fact of blackfeather woods' life. he was not the one that put them there, however, so if they held a meaning deeper than the one he'd given her he doesn't know.

Wrapping up here! Feel free to reply, or I'll archive in a few days. :)

Oh. So he was being ~dark and mysterious.~ Cyclone thought that was a silly way to be, and she was more amused than frightened. Maybe the whole pack had some sort of mental disorder. Yeah, she was gonna go with that one and hope it wasn't contagious. She certainly wouldn't want to catch stupid.

Huh, was her only deadpan response. Whelp, I won't linger around any longer. Check ya later! With a slight smile, she high-tailed it out of there.