The scent of blood drew Aivar before the sound. The croaking noise of a raven made his lips curl. He didn't often eat, or even attempt to eat ravens. They were too much effort, and Aivar didn't think that they were particularly appetizing. Still, he stalked low, though not as low as a wolf with four good legs. He could put the creature out of his misery. Maybe the weasels could pick their teeth with its bones.

He froze, a stranger's scent hit him on a breeze. Teeth glinted and hackles rose. He turned his focus onto the wolf. The bird could wait.

He was aware of a loud crow, as well, but dismissed it.

He stood straight, prowled forward on stiff legs, and found this stranger also investigating the ravenblood on the wind.

“What are you nosing about for, hm?” Aivar demanded as he came upon the stranger. His tail was rigid and raised, though he had the decency to lower his lips so only the tips of his fangs showed as he spoke.

Scrounger, he thought contemptuously, as if he hadn't been in a similar position not so long ago.