Ravensblood Forest Trees of Crimson

For a moment it’s dead quiet. Nothing but the chirps and hums of life continuing around them. A raven squawking here, a cricket chirping there. The whisper of the slightest wind that tickles the hair along his sensitive ears. She’s fucking gone and there’s no one to convince him otherwise. He chalks it up to her getting sick of him already and using the opportunity to dip. Hell she’s probably halfway across the forest by now; far, far away from him. Who knows. 

A frown is bestowed upon his handsome mug for a moment, there he is pouting. Right when he assumes his entertainment — that just so happens to be easy on the eyes — is gone, he’s startled by a force coming out of nowhere and landing on his back. His legs buckle from the unexpected weight and the teeth at his nap would give him the wolf equivalent to goose bumps. Next thing he knows if that he’s falling. Hitting the grassy floor with a thud, he sucks in much needed breath from the air that just got knocked out of his lungs. He’s been rightly attacked by the smaller, pale she-wolf and he’s impressed.