Blackfoot Forest rippling out through his past and future

the sun-kissed stranger speaks up with his own opinion of the forest that differs from wintersbane's own. their unshared opinions of it make them as unique as the forest itself but the tundrian can't help the soft snort that escapes his black, leathery nostrils. "ah, but the forest by the dark of night is a different beast altogether." when the foxes come out to play and their eerie wails could be heard through every inch of the forest. "there is old lore that the forest is haunted but it's just the wails of the foxes." although ...who is he to claim that there are no such things as ghosts? though he always believed himself to be a realist he has experienced impossible things and with each new experience brings about with it a question as to which he has no answer. nevertheless, the tundrian gives a casual roll of his shoulders. "to each their own." he eventually surmises.

slavik, the male introduces himself as. "wintersbane." the tundrian offers his companion with a soft quirk of the corner of his lips and a twitch of his tail against his hocks. "you from around here?" he didn't smell of any pack, not even one he didn't recognize and thus the tundrian is left to assume that slavik is a vagabond.