Bramblepoint the devil's right there in the details

He's so quiet she hardly registers his eye on her.  She's in the middle of trying to dislodge a thorn from her back leg, ungracefully trying to balance on three legs and pretzel herself into a position she could grab the thorn with the tip of her teeth when the wind shifts and carries his scent towards her.

She thinks at first, Siarut, and it is confirmed in her mind when her eye grazes over his bleached form.  The longer it lingers there, she slowly returns to all fours.

Screech, she thinks.  It has to be.  No other wolf has that streak of fire beneath his arms, no other wolf carries an empty socket (though she thinks from where she stands she can see something foriegn lodged in there).

For now she cannot place the Blackfeather on him.  She just knows that for him to be standing before her, it meant that Towhee and Niamh had failed.

Screech?