Phantom Hollow the fogs of london

Even in the midst of winter, a fog rolled in. She steps, her pale fur blending easily into the location. This hollow suited her needs for now. As she roamed ever further into the Teekons, the spook discarded previous encounters for new ones. Her pale gaze roamed over the area, desiring company in any form.

T'was night and the sky above was cast in darkness through the naked trees. She glances up, spotting mother moon before her eyes drop. Paws crunch under the snow, leaving a trail behind her. She muses to stop for the night; but ultimately will roam if she cannot find shelter.

It is by this design she happens upon the hollow. Truly, the fog gets thicker and thicker as she enters. It embraces her lithe frame like an old friend. She smiles despite her loneliness, being beckoned in the location. Too lost in her semi-trance, she does not notice the other being until it is too late.

In her growing unrest, she wandered away from the Coast.  She missed the certainty of soil beneath her paws and the cover of trees.  Though the island offered both of these to some degree, she longed for a life on the mainland again.  She was grateful for the leaders of her pack, of course, but she was uncomfortable living so close to the vast ocean.  Natshana found comfort in the predictable boundaries of a forest, where the sea only fostered her anxieties.

So, she left hoping to see farther inland.  She found herself in a place that felt like a necropolis.  It was eerie and still, even deathly quiet.  The feelings it gave her weren't unwelcome so much as they were interesting.  In fact, she was quite intrigued by the moss that hung here and there, and the apothecary intended to study it when she came upon a wolf who very much looked like an apparition herself.

"Have you come to haunt me, spirit?" she called out in the common language, her tongue no less clumsy as she invoked the words.  Even so, there was humor to be found in her tone, bolstered by the way her eyebrows rose a degree.  Natshana thought she was funny.

"Do you have a guilty conscience, cherie?" came her sweet reply.

The girl was amused by her appearance, that much was clear. Amused to see such a spook as herself roaming the fog. But she was very much real. The woman turned, viewing her neutrally with a maddened curiosity through the environment.

"It is no fun to haunt someone who does not carry regret" she utters again, tilting her head with a creeping smile "a waste of time, no? It means I have to do all the work, and I have much better things to do than instill fear in a clear mind."

Natshana walked into the fog willingly (should that decision be a precursor to her death, so be it).  She noted the accent that the other wolf held and the word that she said that sounded strange to her ears.  Though she spoke with an accent herself, Natshana's was much different than the ghostly stranger's.  They talked in similar and different tongues, and that privately piqued her interest.

"I do not find guilt to be very useful," she replied with a half-smile. As her companion continued, she couldn't help but chuckle - a sound that was generally merry while also genuinely amused. "Will you tell my mentor that you believe I have a clear mind?  They may disagree, but it would serve me well." Her pale eyes glittered more like starlight than the moon they embodied. 

"I hope I am not intruding, then," Natshana persisted. "Perhaps you would like some company for a while."