King Elk Forest and those who chance upon it, should never step inside

While she may have been unaware of him, the gypsy was not oblivious to her. Sojourn had learned well how to keep himself protected, and he had found that a sharp eye was key to his survival. It was with poisonous, glinting, optics that the dark hound met her. Only then did he pause on his determined trek. The fur along his neck and shoulders swayed with the touch of the breeze, and his flesh rose in goosebumps. It was not the younger wolf that drew the response from his unwilling frame, but the chill of winter and the promise of what was to come.

The wanderer took a few steps forward, but his focus was so drawn to the slate-coated stranger that he missed his step and his rear paw made direct contact with a twisted branch. The sound of the snap was enough to send most creatures fleeing. Even the owl that had sung overhead took flight, releasing another warning cry as it passed. Sojourn exhaled sharply; his breath filled the night air like a looming cloud before it vanished. It was there that he froze and waited to see if she would turn.