Haunted Wood I'm just one, but I'm trying

The shifting density of the hallow ground may have warded off lesser creatures, but Dirge was not one of them. Perhaps it was ignorance or arrogance, perhaps neither at all. There was a particular silence here that he had found in other patches of timber, a lingering fog that coiled and twisted as though pulled by an unseen puppeteer, but there was life unguided as well. As of late he had pushed himself through the outer fringes of the region for the solitude it lent, but also just as much for the change of scenery it offered. He had found such solitude in the northern reaches of the weald some time ago, but it had been stifling at one point. Here, not so much.

It was in the wake of steps left by another predator he moved, adapting now to the role of a scavenger as the season seemed to melt from autumn to winter without so much as a warning. Snow was intermittent now, the clouds moving in distantly from offshore to hide away vibrant sunlight; the earth shed its pelage and left trees bare and grasses to bend and break. He took his time on purpose—it was a fool's errand to rush in at the heels of another, be it of ursine, feline, or canine proportions—hoping to find leftovers uncovered, and hopefully unattended.

He found neither of these of course, other than the appearance of a swarthy tigress of a she-wolf to steal his attention and divert his course. Where he would have at one time mistaken her for Hydra, there had been marked improvement in that area. Though Hydra certainly had a robustness about her, this wolf matched his height entirely where others had not. A low chuff was offered then as his steps brought him to curtail distance, and he ventured a guess as to what had brought her there.

”Seems you're not having much luck here either.”

hope you don't mind me!