Haunted Wood deep woods hide saints of another kind

A voice...

It seemed as though the noise had fallen from on high. The willowy creature turned his head, peering intently toward the sound of it. It did not take long before the hound caught sight of a fiery red coat and a sharp snout that sported his Cheshire grin. At once, Cavendish felt at ease.

Foxes were divine creatures, and capable of many things. The length of his tail wavered between his hocks, allowing the fiery trickster room to feel at ease. Though he might have been a predator, the hound was not interested in claiming the life of one so special. He felt as though he had been touched; the conversation with the fox would lead to something great, there were no doubts. Even though the initial inquiry had been one that directly questioned the wolfdog's features, the young prince was not offended in the slightest. No, he was quite enthralled with his companion.

“Why, I do believe I was born with it,” he answered in an airy tone. A smile crept along the thin dark line of his lips, curling his narrow features and crinkling at the corners of his eyes. Then, as if to accompany his ethereal sculpting, Cavendish felt a sweet chuckle rise from the back of his throat. He shook his head once, knowing that he was nothing like the others in that world – that he was different.

Latching his argent gaze to the sharp little creature, the prince canted his head just slightly to the left.

“Tell me, handsome fox... what are these lands called?”