King Elk Forest the descent to hell is easy

Surprisingly, Trajan is soon joined by company. He casts Mato a brief glance and a nod of simple acknowledgement. "'Morning, Mato," he says, scrubbing a paw against the dirt. The aspiring King is up early, the Roman thinks, absentmindedly watching the younger wolf weave around the tree in front of them. Trajan wonders if early waking is simply a habit of the druid, or it just so happens that today, he woke up a bit earlier than usual. Either ways, the soldier does not mind a little company, he figures that he might as well get to know his future king a bit more.
The wraith pads forward silently, subconsciously travelling through the dancing charcoal shadows. They were moving like licks of fire and flame on the slowly lightening forest floor as a breeze blows gently, ruffling the leaves and branches of the canopy above, creating a soft rustling noise. He lifts a leg and marks, head tilting upwards to spare a glance at the sky. It was brightening now, a gentle myriad of soft pastel colours sweeping the length of the heavens. 
Trajan licks his lip and continues forward. He marks another tree before glancing at the gray druid through bi-coloured eyes. "So, where are you from, Mato?" he asks quietly, gaze sharply inquisitive like that of a bird's. Distantly, he wonders if his question comes off a bit rude, though he is only, in reality, trying at small talk to get to know the younger male better. He spares Mato another glance, trying to gauge his reaction of the soldier's somewhat straightforward questioning. He means no harm, really, but his words tend to bite, rather than heal and mend, and in the presence of a stranger and future leader, he is unsure of the levels of sarcasm he is allowed to use without losing Mato's good graces.
Trajan has fallen out with too many leaders in he past to make mistakes now.