Ravensblood Forest the long rain

She reacted as they all do; hesitantly. He was a wicked sight to behold. A wraith, dark of body and spirit, with the vilest of auras clinging to his being. Skellige was not a wolf who was sought for comfort or companionship. He was a fighter. The eldest Cairn child was a product of war and was raised to believe that life was no more than just that. In everything he did, he was forced to recall this. There would never come a time when he would not revoke the memory of the Warsaw Islands and hold fast to the premise that those lands belonged to him. The thirst would never be quenched.
 
His breath struck her face and he watched as she reacted to his close presence. First by eyeing him cautiously, then by extending herself forward to draw in his scent. He smelled of damp fur, brine, and blood. He could feel the hot air from her nose as she bathed in his being. Snorting, he blinked at her with a sharp expression and flicked his ears forward. His body was hers to inspect, should she need such comfort. But he did not need to breathe in her strange aroma to know that she would not be a risk to his wellbeing.
 
The rain continued to drizzle onto his skull, and the wraith blinked the water from his eyes, following the woman as she examined his being.