Witch's Marsh ach, ich bin des Treibens müde!

balanced comfortably atop a fallen willow, thus far saved from rot and decay, the wolf works at the remains of a muskrat. it had been a tricky catch; only by staking out one of its nests and striking swiftly upon its return did she manage to secure this meal. careful to swallow down each sinew, the wolf was markedly determined to make the most of it. 

a jay called overhead, impatient with her. coal gaze flickered once to it as it swept overhead, but paid the scavanger no mind as she swallowed the last of her meal.

@Evanora

The cawing of a jay alerted the witch to a possible intruder in her domain. Donning on her skull face mask, she stalked through the marsh on lithe paws, naturally mindful of her footsteps as second nature as she quickly made her way through the bog. Muck stuck to her paws but they didn't sink despite them touching the sticky substance, she was a specter in the dank marsh, this was her home, and so who the hell was here to disturb her peace?

Upon arrival to where the jay was screaming, she eyed a wolf who caught a rodent. Wolves sometimes dropped by but it never ceased to confuse the coyote as to why, this place was miserable for them, so why would they ever come? say to me wolf, why are thou hither ? was this another one to send off with a curse?

there came another scavenger, this one with words and questions. her stance remains neutral, coal-dark gaze tracing the ridges of the skull that beckons from the shadows. she blinks, dipping her muzzle down in a gesture that seems to convey respect, and yet she is silent. the jay calls again, shrill in the silence, and the shadow tugs free a chunk of sinew, tossing it upward with a quick flick of her muzzle. a flash of wings, and the morsel never lands. 

gaze returns to the skull, the shadow reclining on her haunches as she remains perched. auds sweep forward, and her head cants in silent question, intrigue tempted by the voice beneath the facade of decay.

Silence follows. Not uncomfortably so. The stranger feeds the cawing bird so it may leave peacefully with a parting gift, something Evanora took note of. The beasts of the marsh were her family, though she used them in rituals all the time, they were to be treated with respect until their time of use came. 

The firm-set silent type. She muses the fact for now until proven otherwise. At least the other can hear her, judging by the way she acts. With bold strides, she approaches the wolf, unafraid, though perhaps she should be. With the mask on she could not sniff them out, but at least she could get a better look at them.

Cocking her head from one side to the next, she studied the equally dark creature. I hate thy kind, yet thou, thou seem divers wolf. Doth here not sicken thou? doth thou not hate me? Her gaze sharpens as she continues to study every movement the creature did. Every change in facial ticks that might give their true intentions away.

the skull grows near, attached to it the finely carved body of a coyote, moving with grace through the mire. she remains still, watching, even as a pair of dark-winged scavengers alight in the vicinity. her chin lowers, examining the skull that speaks in a manner that requires an extra moment of comprehension. a moment passes before her maw slips open. "no." a sound that could just as easily have been an exhale of breath, and is just as likely to be mistaken as one. 

again, muzzle cants, intrigue tempted. one of the crows alights further down the log, and begins a careful stride toward the remains of the rabbit. a brief swivel of her ears, but otherwise, the scavenger is ignored.

Interesting... She cooed softly to herself as the woman non-verbally answers. there was nothing wrong with the silent types, if she were, to be honest, the witch preferred this. No loud mouths to speak of everything that transpired between themselves and the witch of the mire, to come and bother the witchdoctor for frivolous reasons and bring too much attention to herself.

Perhaps she would try to put an effort into silencing more wolves by stealing their tongues. That would be nice. Snatch it right up as they sleep, a good potion would let them slumber right through the procedure... practice would surely make perfection eventually. I like thou. Join hither any time, I shall feed thou and offer charms for thy safety, bring me herbs and items for potions from far aroint places and I shall compose it worth thy while... She pauses for a moment... thinking of something.

Aradia, that is what I shall name thou. Since this wolf could not speak or wouldn't speak, Evanora took it upon herself to bless this one with its own calling.