Totoka River you say if you could fly, you’d never come back down

Because of the imposed hatred of himself that his family and birth-pack had instilled into him at a tender age, Haunter was never overly fond of black wolves. This seemed strange, as it should be the pale devils and abusers that he had known that should cause him to dislike their race—but the opposite was true, and before he had joined the Creek and began to marginally change in ways he could not yet describe, Haunter would have been dismissive or violent towards the raven creature before him. Her confidence would have irked him, and her languid movements would have roused him with jealousy. But now he could appreciate the younger female, he was interested even, despite the unchanged expression on his dark face.

He did not waste a moment to explain after her subtle query as to what he was looking for. "I prefer dark spaces. To be relatively unseen in—and I am not a fan of sunrises," he rumbled in his deep rasp, not feeling the need to explain that this rayless, unlit space needed to be big enough to comfortably accommodate him and his long legs. He watched her, sometimes peering curiously into her cunning, mint-leaf eyes, as he wondered if she knew a spot.