Haunted Wood tears for fears

It was never a good thing to be alone. But that rule in itself, was subjective. Slade loved the lack of company. And never once, did he complain about solitude. He wanted the exile. He craved the silence. It was a passion he learned to hoard just as selfishly as he would a free shank of venison from the fangs of starving. The Nightmare King was, as he always was.
Horrible.

Today was different, however. He was leaving his den a bit early today, the massive once bear-housing den his own as it had been for years now, to go hunt. Nothing major, just something to sate peckishness. He never liked being hungry, thirsty, as it messed with rationale. Though it could have been minute, he still took no chances. Just as he left the den, something struck him as odd within the Phantom Hallows...All of the prey were already hidden. Someone or something was reducing his preys offhanded naivity, and the Shadow Sire did not take too kindly to this.

Molten irises of fiery orange scoured the lands, searing through the cover he called his own. Several prints left in the somber lands screamed to him in the scene of crime...
Someone had passed through these lands. And the prey did not know exactly who it was, thus rending them fearful of the unknown, and retiring earlier than usual.
Pity.
He would have to have a bit of chat with this...visitor...this...intruder.

He stood, his full height dwarfing the average wolf through strong genes of Mackenzie lupine heritage. He was fully aware of his towering effects over others, and the regal King enjoyed every second those who had to look up to him took to feel uneasy.
Taking to the shadows of the Hallows, Slade made his way through the petrified forest, the mist clinging to the feet of gnarled roots and shrubs alike giving a ghostly waft to the steps he silently did. He was nothing but a passing void, there one second,
gone the next.

It was a full seven minutes before he came to anything of intrest. A scent, lone, and feminine, perfume the male knew well from these parts. He couldn't gauge anything more than that, the scent faint, bu using it he began to track down the direction, then eventually the general vicinity of whoever made the aroma he felt belonged to the tresspasser of his Hallows.
Volcanic gems latched to a form, single, and wandering through the brighter fringes of the woods. A wolf that seemed just as large as he was if not a smidge smaller, and he questioned immediately his evidence. The brutess was quite larger than the average female, and personally, if he had been perhaps born female, they would be locked in a combat neck and neck for better build. He, being a hard-trialed male, evidently held a more willing muscle density, but who was this? And how far did they extend their own livelihood to achieve their own?

The Wicked Messiah treked soundlessly toward the woman, his nares taking to anything that could give him more information on this lupine. Only until he neared, did he speak, silken baritones cutting through the air with no sense of regard for anything other than the female before him.

"What could bring you so far from the world of the sane, miss? As you know, this is the land of the damned, the deceived, and the devoid, yes?"