Blackfoot Forest I think you are the moon

I'm assuming she's been accepted and I'm free to start a new thread? If not let me know and I can delete this! <3

There had been quite the calamity after her acceptance within the pack, yet it had nothing to do with herself for once. A male had reportedly taken the helm from the former leader, Aaron, and Lilith would be lying if she didn't say this made her ecstatic. What a coincidence, that after such a show of judgement on his part towards her, karma had come around to deal justice. She smiled at the thought, an airy expression that she kept as she slunk through the woodland.

She had kept to the outskirts of pack life for the last few days, explaining to those that asked that she was simply recovering from her journey. In truth, she was scouting the territory, searching, looking, but could not tell her pack mates of this. She had a decent knowledge of the land now, and explored further and further into the forest, making it almost to the heart. The twisted boughs curled around the path she wandered down, and Lilith stared at them curiously before looking down to the ground, the greenery that had been swept away by the plague slowly but surely reemerging.

The ghostly man had done well to keep himself out of the sights of the other wolves. He had made his name and his face known to the female who also had leadership over the pack. She had not been a welcoming woman, but she had seemed to understand his intentions and the necessity of his actions; this was something. The others were certainly brewing something in the quiet of the woods. He could smell the dissension that clung to their bodies. He did not know if they were truly aligned in an attempt to de-throne him, or if there were some who did not mind his presence in their ranks. Surely, he would find trouble if he did not make himself known.
 
Drawing his figure through the tangle of trees and foliage, the ash-coated beast found himself marveling at how dense the forest truly was. It could be used to his advantage if at all necessary, but it did cause a nervousness to rile in his gut. They knew those lands far better than he – Kierkegaard had spent a majority of his time on the coast in attempts to remain close to Caiaphas. The ink-faced halfling was the only creature he had grown fond of.
 
Padding carefully, the brute caught a scent that was entirely unfamiliar to him. His fiery gaze shifted as he caught sight of a pale figure in the light that filtered through the leaves. Quietly, the beast followed her for a moment as she appeared to be searching. After several long seconds, he stepped through the brush and lifted his skull upwards.  

If she had known the man had been stalking her, she did not show it. The lithe halfbreed lazily made her way through the foliage, pausing every so often to push away roots to reveal the ground underneath before snorting with irritation and continuing onwards. She sought a particular herb — among other things — but she wasn't sure she would find it here. It seemed like a bountiful forest when she first arrived, though perhaps she ought to seek out other territories if she was to find this plant. It would be easier now that she had a place to at least come back to.

The tall figure that emerged from the bushes caught her by surprise, and her eyes widened for a moment before she regained her composure, features falling into a polite smile. He held his head high and seemed to command a certain level of authority, though if this was either from a high ranking in the pack or simple arrogance, she could not tell. She had an inkling, though...

The female let her own head drop, dipping in a respectful bow and looking up to catch the stranger's molten gaze. "You aren't like the others of this pack," she said in a soft voice, an interested but mischievous glint in her eye.

When the pale woman turned to face him, the ghost was captured by the sharp yellow of her gaze. It reminded him of Caiaphas for a moment, and he found himself missing the dark-skulled female of the sea. Once he had found himself grounded, the brute allowed the woman before him to roam his figure with an intensity in her gaze. A polite smile had fallen across her features, but it was not returned by the ashen man; the ghost of a smile had not lingered on his leathery lips in quite some time. Instead, his ears cupped forward at the sound of her voice and he lifted his brows upwards only slightly at the remark that she had to make.
 
It was a safe assumption. Kierkegaard was a haggard and ragged creature of the cliffs; he did not belong to the soft life of the Rosings wolves. Still, he eyed her for a moment longer, gritting his teeth against each other. “You are not wrong,” he rumbled in a quiet baritone. His voice cracked softly as it struck the air, weaker from lack of use. But she was not quite like the wolves of Rosings either, and yet she carried the scent on her coat. It was new, but still belonged to the woods. Instead of pointing this out, the ghost simply allowed the silence to stretch before them. He was not a man of words and oftentimes he inserted himself where he did not belong.

A quiet settled between them, one which the stranger only broke to offer a statement that hinted at a not oft used voice. She tilted her head slightly, her polite smile spreading further as her assumptions proved correct. It wasn't a feat, however, to guess that this wolf was not one of this forest. Where the others of the pack held an amicable aura and their eyes glowed with warmth, this man's were anything but. She looked to the shaggy fur at his neck with a bemused smile. His appearance alone was telling.

She herself blended in quite nicely, what with her slight, unassuming build and well-kept coat, though her intentions clashed with the softness of the wolves and forest here. Perhaps she could make a useful friend out of this stranger.

She hummed in response, keeping her eyes on his form. "You usurped the Alpha here," she stated after a pause, firm in her belief that she was correct. The pack was small, and she was sure that none of the others had it in them to take the helm in such a hostile way. She added quickly, "my name is Lilith."

It had not been the ghost’s intention to fit in with the wolves of Rosings. He had not wanted to melt into their pot of sweet demeanors and loving natures. There had been nothing but transparency in the brute since he had arrived on their lands and stolen their leader’s seat on the throne. Kierkegaard had spoken honestly with them, counting tales of starvation and the famine having eaten away at him. They did not care. In a world of justice, they cared only that he saw what was right and wrong, but they could not think past their own snouts to understand that if he had been a vigilant and just wolf, he would have perished out there on his own. So their opinions did not matter to him, and they would not matter in the days to come.
 
The guess – or observation – that tumbled from the pale woman’s lips was correct, and so she was met with a grunting confirmation from the man. Usurper – that would be his title forever. But it was not the first time he had taken the rules of a pack and shattered them in a single swoop. The self-serving beast was something of an anomaly in those lands, whether he had realized it or not.
 
The smaller woman then went on to introduce herself as Lilith. He blinked once or twice upon her dainty figure and nodded his head. “I am Kierkegaard. How long have you been in these woods?” the ghost offered his own name and then inquired in the same breath. He did not wish to waste his words, for they were very rarely offered to those he did not know well enough. The sharpness of her gaze was enough to allow him to venture only slightly from his typical path. Perhaps she could be of use to him, and then again… perhaps he could have been of use to her.