Blackfeather Woods Reflecting on the reflection

Atli was aware that there was a Dark Master — for Potema had filled him in that she is not the only leader of the Woods — and that he probably should have sought her out shortly after the High Priestess accepted him into their fold. He hadn’t, but he acknowledged that he should have. In fact, he’d been apart of the pack for a week …perhaps more or less and had yet to actually seek her out. Until now, that was. Though he is content to patrol borders — occasionally venture out — and spend time with Potema with the intention of getting to know her better. Strange, he thinks, if only because he had been confident that he’d never see her again after that night. The Norns had spoken of their reunion and so it is. Still, he deviates from the gruesome and morbid borders of the Woods, heading deeper into the heart of the territory in search of the mysterious Dark Master figuring that he might as well, at the very least, introduce himself; especially since the situation regarding his joining had been atypical. An implore of the High Priestess, one that the northman did not deign to ignore. He comes across her scent first, and as he came across her: a woman draped in the velveteen cloak of night, dabbled with starlight he almost didn’t see her. She blended in well with the darkness that clung to the woods, admittedly, and with one functioning eye and the habit of trying to focus out of his left, nearly blind eye was one he was struggling to break.

Thus, at first, she drifted across his vision as frosted, milk white eye focuses upon her she is nothing more than a wisp of writhing smoke: a shifting shadow in the thick fog that permanently clouds that eye. Scarred flesh around that eye crinkles slightly and he fights back the roll of his stomach as the scars, fresh still, send shooting sickening feelings through the ruined nerves, but he catches her movement out of his good eye, then and lets out a low chuff to announce his presence to her, his steps ceasing abruptly.