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

She was startled at first, a normal reaction to his "sudden" presence. He chuckled softly, raising himself to his feet, ignoring the creak in his bones as he loped over to the tree she was trying to pry a branch from. He nosed one branch, looking down at the coywolf. This is the one, correct? Miraak reared up slightly on his hind legs, broke off the branch she asked for and handed it over to the smaller wolf. She was looking for a particular branch, for what reason he could not fathom. He suspected it was something of a magical nature; his sister and other magically-inclined wolves of his birth sect were always picking up random objects, claiming they were pulsating with magic. He could never sense it, but he trusted their choices.