𝐏𝐋𝐎𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐃. @youngestdcg
The forest was more his home than any abode, any castle, had ever been. Its trees, weirwood and pine alike, sheltered and protected him. After many years of fleeing to timber in order to escape the insistent prejudices against his birth-status, he had learned how to travel among the skeletal figures with ease. Silent steps were careful and practiced in disguise, as he wandered with a trio of hounds. It was no coincidence he so closely resembled that of the Lord of the Underworld, as his loyal descendants of Cerberus caught upon a smell and charted towards its source. Perhaps as blood-hungry as the bastard himself was ( though it would be no surprise, seeing as how he starved them regularly. It was a practice learned from his very lord father; for Ramsay had been no stranger to the insurmountable pleasure which followed finally digging canines into tender meat after days forced fasting ). Of course Ramsay was curious, and while he didn’t consider himself a killjoy in any sense ( in fact, quite the opposite ), he didn’t want his beloved beasts to obliterate whatever prey they set their intentions on . . . not without him having his fun first. “To me, heel.” Ordered the son of snow, as he chased after the beings. Obedience which had been beaten in surfaced and his hounds stayed close to their master as the group of hunters neared their soon-to-be victim. Eyes of ice fell upon a pup which was not his own before he noticed the accompanying girl. “Sit.” Ramsay demanded of his own drooling dominions. Finally, once the snarling had quieted, the maiden before him was made known. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Ramsay pondered aloud, poisonous voice dripping with menace from an equally sickening smirk. “Who might you be, little one?”