Boartusk Heights For here he owns, that now and then

The Raven let out a shrill caw, ruffling its wing feathers. It hobbled closer to the two where it was merely a couple of feet away. Her peripheral vision saw the Raven’s movement. This had been the closest it came in proximity to her or any other wolf for that matter. Zsuzsa wasn’t its keeper and didn’t want the responsibility of such, so she was uncertain of what this sign could mean at this moment.
 
Remaining grounded in place like the very mountain they were on, the male gruffly announced himself as Piety Montserrat. Ears flicked forward in catching the name. It didn’t sound familiar and not old-world enough to be from the Weald. No significant accent upon his tongue. Piety’s responses were vapid but had no difficulty acknowledging his approach. Her hackles still prickled and bristled, and she gave several swishes of her tail behind in an aggressive motion. On the inside, she may have been appeased by his replies, but on the outside, she had to display the same solid grounding as the mountain beneath her paws as well.
 
The Montserrat then asked if she was in trouble. Zsuzsa huffed. ”It’s been relative my whole life.” Her steel eyes remained transfixed on his own. She wouldn’t dare tell him directly if she was. ”Anyone else with you?” Zsuzsa continued with the inquiries. It was apparent he was the only one with her in the area, but since her entire body was high on her own fight or flight adrenaline, she would check off all those invisible boxes to vet him as not a threat.