Phantom Hollow Let the Rain fall down and wake my dreams

@Donovan Azura
(This should be fun) 

Unlike the inviting darkness of the woods, she had a very strong feeling this land, was not meant for wolves. 
Even she felt the cold sensation of being watched here. No, these woods, this place, was even more sacred. 
There were some places so sacred, so dense with the energy of spirit, even a witch dared not tread. She would not make her home here. The woods surrounding it, perhaps. But not here. Here, was where they perhaps would lay their dead. Only the dead would live here. 
She uttered a small prayer and a spell for protection as she traveled through the sacred land, eyes only on the ground in front of her paws out of respect. 
And all around her, the rain poured.

Donovan’s shoulder is healing nicely. He’s attempting to continue the promise to himself to carry in exploring the forever interesting lands of the Teekon Wilds. The place seems never ending and he’s positive there’s still places he hasn’t seen with his own two eyes yet. This area being one of them.

It’s so eerie. Devoid of life, yet so full of it at the same time. Perhaps the spiritual type of life — or death. He has only respect for the dead if it is one of his own, even then, he doesn’t give too much of a fuck about it. Though this place does make his fur stand on end. The hair along his spine vibrating with unease as he saunters through. Gazing all around at the haunting environment.

Then he spots a wolf. A ghostly one at that. Their coat is a silver white, yet he can see a darker undercoat. It’s beautiful. It gives them more of a blue tone. He can’t help but stare, only finally forcing himself to speak.

“Hey.” Is his greeting. A casual sound with a casual tilt up of his chin. “Who’re you?” He asks quietly once he realizes the echo of his voice sounds borderline ethereal in these odd lands.

Onward she continued, lips still moving softly, the hum of spirits like a buzzing cicada bouncing around her skull. 
It was almost painful. 
She was not unaware that there were eyes on her. 
Macaria flicked an ear in annoyance, finally stopping, dark eyes searching, before landing on him. 
A bear of a man, muscular and scarred, freshly wounded. His eyes are what alarmed her though. 
Macaria didn't have the best opinions of men in the first place. They were usually greedy, taking what they wanted and demanding more. He moves through this place casually, as though he owns it, too, and it draws the hairs on the back of her neck. 
Oh Derg. Poor, poor Derg. For she realizes now the familiarity of the man's scent. The Overseer, the Feminine trapped within masculine, had this man's scent on him. But her eyes narrowed as she smelt evidence of not only had s unfaithfulness, bur not even dedication to his gender. 

All of these thoughts ran through her mind like watee bounding through rapids, and her coal eyes looked up at him, through him Almost as they were kniwn to do. 
When she speaks, it is with barely controlled disgust. 
"Macaria. These lands are older than you, or I. They belong to the dead." 

He watches this female eye him down precariously, her gaze slowly turning to something related to disgust. Her ears flicked back in a sign of irritation and those shadowed orbs seem to settle on him judgmentally. His own cream brows shifting downwards on his face, creasing the spot between them. Who the does she think she is looking at him like that. Like he ain’t shit.

He continues eyeing her down just as hard as she does him. Though the difference between the two is the smile he wears cockily on his maw. “I see. Why you looking at me like that, darling? See something you like?” Even though he knows without a doubt that she looks upon him with hatred and disgust, he still likes to ruffle peoples feathers.

Cocky bastard. 
Arrogant, destructive fool. 
They were all the same, that was obvious. 
She tucks herself inward, tail tightly covering her scent. She wants no part of his conquest. 
He jests, and she barely contains a roll of her eyes. 
"Not hardly. You aren't my type." She answers flatly. With the wound on her shoulder she was in no condition to fight- probably wouldn't last long against the boar of a man anyway. 
"I was merely wondering why a male," she says with a note of disgust in her voice, "Thought it fit for him to trample through sacred lands as though he owns them. Though I would expect nothing less than a brute like you." 

“Yes of course, except nothing less from a brute like me.” He hums and dares to come closer to the fiery shewolf. He tilts his chin up and looks down to her, defiance in his canary orbs. “What if it was I who owned this land?” He asks back, intentionally trying to grind her gears.

He tiptoeing closer, “What? You like women better?” Comes his teasing inquiry.

He moved closer in attempt to intimidate her, but she's not having it. Her voice lowers, a growl barely audible above the storm. 
"I know that not to be true, demon. For one, you do not smell of these lands. There is no territory here, and you smell of a mixing of scent." She answered in a cool tone. Dark eyes pierced his, haunting. 
"I also have known your lover, the one called Derg. Though I know him as Deimos. The Feminine trapped within the masculine. He has extended treaties with me and my future sisterhood." 
She sidesteps as he towers over her, too close for comfort, her skin crawling. This was a foul creature, a wicked thing that had relished in conquest and blood. 
Her lip curled in disgust. 
"I would sooner lay with a coyote than a man. Men are foul, miserable, loathsome brutes with no regard for anything but their own needs. To think of laying under one, even to produce pups, disgusts me." 

He chuckles at her first sentence and then his ears perk up at the mention of Derg. His lover though? Donovan tilts his head in curiosity and his expression becomes sly and searching. Another step forward. Then another laugh at her sustain towards men. He loves ‘em both; men, women, he couldn’t give a fuck.

Anyhow, he’s more interested by the familiar name this ashen woman speaks of. “How do you know Derg?” He asks with a hum to his voice.

He's testing her. The striped male pushes closer, greedy smirk on his features, and she curls a lip, growling. 
If he so much as touches a hair on her pelt he will have no choice but to resist. 
He asks how she knows Deimos, and she rolls her eyes. Did she not just explain such things? 
"Brutish and stupid, I see." She jabs, voice tense. 
"I already told you. I was tending to my duties and he came upon me. Deimos at least has some sense. Though him being Two-hearted explains that well enough." 
Why this primitive dunderhead was leading the canyon pack and not Deimos was beyond her.

At her insult he’s internally shrugging — her name calling and judgmental attitude doesn’t do anything but want to poke at the fire even more, hoping the flame will raise. If they don’t oh well, but at least he’s being entertained.

So he smirks as she spits rueful names to him. Describing him as brutish and stupid. He shrugs his massive shoulders, a wave of a curled tail, and tentative auds cupped in her direction. “Maybe I like it when you’re rude to me.” He chuckles back to her. He just wants her to snap at him. He doesn’t plan on fighting her, but damn does he want to see sparks fly.