Ghost Lion Crag The blood is the life... and it shall be mine.

He stood perfectly skill, a time worn habit and skill of his, his indigo eyes half lidden as he watched the small woman come into his view. She was tiny, coyote-like in form and fur. Was she coywolf? He had met many before, perhaps he even had some of his own.

Miraak did little as she jumped forward to snatch a branch from a tree, instead observing her with interest. What was she doing? Was she a herbalist of some sorts? He couldn't delve into this woman's mind, but he settled on reading her expression instead.

When she missed, he thought it appropriate to reveal his presence. The shade lifted his head, but not his body, peering at her quizzically. Do you require assistance?