Whitebark Stream Fate's Calling (Leila, Slade, Cry)

Cry watched with wintery glacials. A russet with both a frame near his own physique was drifting too near the borders, and within his flattened prone , he kept still. A piece of the land, he was, moving not, saying not, and near untracable. This was why he patroled primarily at night...not everyone was meaning to be seen during the day.

The void walker was adamant of seeing who Leila's scent was intertwined with, though he said nothing to her. Curiousity, a vicious grip that refused to release, almost tipped him over into asking her, but word form mouth would not have satisfied him. He needed his own proof. So after memorizing the scent that was on the sister, he kept near. Very near.

The russet had figured apparently how foolish it would be to traipse inside pack lands, and turned to leave the area. But it was too late; Cry had already caught that face of his, looking for the pale girl who's perfume hadn't even had time to leave his own. As the stranger turned to leave, Cry stood, and made his way promptly toward the man, his voice accusatory in the midnight hours.

"You must be him."