Bramblepoint know who you are

Cypress tailed Rian in utter silence, long snout dipping to nose at the bedraggled strip of hide and its odd collection of brittle bones for a thorough, investigative sniff. Tall ears flicked, swiveling automatically at the sound of an unfamiliar voice, but when Rian broke through the brambles to assess the stranger, the eidolon hung back. He emerged from the gnarled bracken moments later with the strip of hide clutched between his jaws, intense sulphureous eyes taking in the large, heavily muscled wolf with typical impassiveness. Leathery nostrils flared as his lips peeled back to draw in the Rochester’s scent, and he filed away the odd name for safekeeping without deigning to offer his own — his mouth was full, after all.

It was at this point that Cypress did a very un-Cypress-like thing.

Awkwardly, the wild-furred raven shook his head, allowing the agouti strip of fur to flash and flicker tauntingly. He tossed it in the air, caught it between his teeth, and shook it again, tail lashing madly behind him, his rangy musculature as loose and relaxed as he could make it. Come and take it, he dared the three, backing away with a rumble that was fifty percent playfulness, fifty percent anxiety. Like his brothers in arms, Cypress was a rather maladjusted youth — but he certainly meant well. He waggled his head at Rian, whuffing through the mouthful of fur, then singled out his brother with a hesitant bow. Being least comfortable with Tryp — an unknown quantity — Cypress turned to the silver-saddled wolf last, but the whisk of his tail and scuttle of his hindquarters was uncharacteristically good-natured.