Ravensblood Forest the long rain

The steady rain pressed bladed steel fur slick against the slim, boxy frame of a mountain witch. She traveled at a steady pace, moving almost perpendicular to the massive shadow of Death unwittingly slinking her way. The she-wolf would be physically unprepared for his presence, but mentally, the argent waif had a distinct lack of fear for the corporeal woes of life. She licked her chops once she had discerned the black titan's body among the endless rows of red-bare trunks, and she stopped to see if he would simply pass by or if he would give pause to a reaction for her.

She gave her drenched body a shake, and then stood lankly in invitation. Shelter would be warmer, she had surmised— hence her patient wait to find his temperament and gauge his intelligence— and if he was as smart as he looked frightful, then he would come to same conclusion she had.