The Sentinels donnelaith

The chilling wind wrapped around the length of fur in his neck and shoulders, causing the dark hairs to dance there. Snow still lay flecked across the earth in shaded areas, splotching the terrain in muddy whites. The frigid winter was not what had latched his attention, though; it was the disaster that had fallen the forest of her birth. His dark gaze roamed over the devastation of the sentinels and he breathed a troubled sigh. His pale wife had wandered further up ahead, and he watched as she delicately stepped over each fallen log and blackened brush. Even from there, he could smell the scents of the bay and the ocean that stretched beyond it. A humming in his chest drew him toward the sea, but he waited for her as she called into the darkness of the forest, for a sister.
 
Skellige pulled up beside her and trailed his nose along her flank without a word. The wraith did not have anything to say regarding the death of her home; it was not his place and had never been his place. There was a twinge of regret in the thought that his alliance had fallen so swiftly and that the wolves of the wood had vanished to their own respective homes. Beyond that, he felt only a closeness to his mate – the witch of the wild.