Lost Creek Hollow deep within the most sacred grove

He considered then for a moment a simple scrying—what effort would it take to dislodge one of the inlaid stones to cast into the water? For the temptation therein would be for naught, as he had tried this many a time since his exile and nothing came of the ripples. It were as though the nooks and crannies of Ravenspire had been imbued with their own wards—or at least had been. He did not spare much of a thought for what remained of its heart, lest he desired to dredge up all that was bound to come out along with it.

Still, his gaze traveled over many of the stones there in the mud in consideration. So deep was his focus that he did not hear the approach of another, nor the warning chuff that came to follow. Truth be told he should have heard it, should have had a better sense of awareness and a guard to go with it. But it was the flat tone in the set of words that came to him that drew him out of his deliberations to remind him why he had come there, and briefly his eyes went to scan for the ravens.

They were gone.

And that left him with the wolf to his side, who he regarded very much as flatly and silently as his approach had been to him. Green eyes crossed over ones that mirrored his own, albeit they were more vivid and bright. Emeralds, he heard, but whether it was his voice or something from the ether was another story altogether. Compassion rests in shades of emerald, it urged, and he only then realized he was being silent, and his gaze fell to the wilting grasses away from the wolf.

”I am sorry to intrude,” he murmured, scarcely louder than a whisper. How unlike him to lack the strength to speak, yet perhaps wise here. This wolf out classed him in an instant as they often did; he was a small, spindly thing, and a wolf could easily snap him in two if he did not keep his wits about him. Never mind his own mixed heritage, the only thing wolf about him was his size.

He dared to steal another glance to those gem-like eyes the wolf held and found instead, an innate sadness come creeping forth. He deemed him a mirror then and there and looked away opposite of earlier. ”Forgive me, I was in thought when you came,” he started again, this time with strength he had deprived the former line of. ”I was drawn to your waters, and borders here. Have you room for another? Need of a healer, perhaps?” The words fumbled out of his mouth, deliberate in their placement and wary.

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