Shadewood the night of long fangs

Dark lips curled in a grin that allowed yellow and pointed canines to poke from below. A rumbling chuckle echoed in his throat. Her response was nothing more than appropriate. He would have expected nothing less of the speckled seabird.

“Aye,” he agreed with dark humor painting the word. Smokestep agreed well with the companionship of Sandpiper. He had never found her company to by anything more than welcome, in spite of the salt that coursed through her veins. She took well after their father and her sharp tongue was a reminder of home and family – the only family that mattered.

With this, the ghost continued his trek forward. The less time that he had in those woods, the better. He was growing restless and was not eager to see if they should happen across any woodland wolves hunkered beneath the canopy.

“We must touch the black rock when we land near the depths,” he reminded her in a voice that sounded faintly like a half-grunt, half-growl. They had heard of the sacred and jagged landmark since they were old enough to understand it.