Blackfeather Woods I'm being followed by a moonshadow, moonshadow, moonshadow

Lurking within the outskirts of the woods, he regularly stopped and raked his nails down the trunks of the trees, refreshing the scent markers previously left behind. He was nearing the completion of his patrol when the canine howled, catching his attention with ease; it was peculiar-sounding, making him wonder if the voice’s owner was injured in some way. Disregarding the thought—it didn’t matter if they were injured or not, they’d be treated the same—he made his way towards the origin of the call, jogging lightly.

The first thing he noticed upon spotting the individual was his pelt, the markings unusual and standing out; white, but with splatters of various monochromatic colours that made it impossible for him to blend in with the snow. Shaking his head, he closed the distance between them, keeping his head held high and his expression neutral—bored, almost—as he stared the male down. “Tell me your name and what business you have here,” he commanded, eyes never straying. From a distance, he hadn’t seen the shape in which the loner was in, only the distinct markings on his body. Now that he was closer, however, it was easy to see the wear and tear that he’d undergone; the winter had not been kind to him, that much was obvious.