Lost Creek Hollow Joining

Well into another day, Mordecai ventured out to the borders out of habit. It was something that came naturally to him, but then again it may as well have come naturally to them all. With the silence of the woodland at his back, he persisted along the paths that they were beginning to carve along the fringes of the Hollow, ever attune with what went on around him.

He was not long into his patrol when the quiet mumblings of another stole his attention from the path ahead. He halted for a moment, a held in breath ceasing his movements as he listened. He couldn't quite make it out, but whoever was speaking, they were close. With hackles prickling along his spine and nape on exhale, he continued his approach until he spied out the source of sound — a wolf as pitch black as an oil well, barring the starkness of his much lighter feet.

And to Mordecai, given the recent events of their last visitor of sorts, only saw him as loitering. A growl rumbled low in his throat, his eyes fixed on the fellow. Surely that would be enough to draw his attention and prompt him for some answers.