Ravensblood Forest Watch me make them bow

The scent from Donovan's den was obvious, and it left her irritated. 
She didn't rightly have a reason to be, as She was the one who had made it perfectly clear their arrangements were political, nothing more. She hadn't expected to develop a...weakness. Yes, that was what it was. A weakness, that needed to be addressed, sharpened, hidden away. Love was not a word in her vocabulary. And if she had it her way, it never would be. So be it if he chose to fuck anything that would hold still long enough. 
She was above that. Her title, and her dignity, was worth more than laying down with any random stud. And that was the difference between purebloods and halflings. 
Her musings lead her on a trail through the forest, pausing to squat against trees periodically, reinforcing her presence. Let him try to bring some mewling bitch into these woods. 
She paused, catching the scent of @Will-o-Whisp and her lips curled. a tresspassing shewolf. Well she would either join their ranks or die on the way out.

the cuts around her eye smart, throbbing as she descends the rock keep. down the rock she glides, auds pressed back and listening for the sweep of wings. it'd been the chicks she'd been after; not as a meal, no, but only because she'd not seen any like them before. but their parents had been nearer, and more attentive, than those of the crow's nest she'd found. 

as her paws find level ground, she finds herself in a place familiar. the brute's claim, or rather, his hopeful one. despite his apparent friendliness, she has no desire to test her luck by attempting to pass through the heart of this wood. a glance back the way she'd come reveals a winged form circling, searching not too far away. with a short exhale, she turns neatly and begins to head north, skirting the edges of the wood.

She continues to the border, half marking scents, and half following the scent of the shewolf in front of her. 
finally, her target spills into view, a haunted little slip of a thing, but pretty, she supposed. This however, wasn't a scent that had been on her Donovan. 
She called out, eyeing the girl up and down as she approached. 
"You're on Saints land, girl. Or near enough to it. What can we do for you?" 

a voice calls, the raven's head tilts to glance back over her shoulder. a woman stands there, calling out a warning, an offer. for a moment, the girl is made still. then she is moving again, until long limbs carry her away and through those great trees, and once more she is lost in solitude.