Blackfeather Woods friendly neighborhood spider-man

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.