Deepwood Weald i kissed a frog at midnight so he sang me a lullaby

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Marruz had been silent as always. For the majority of his introduction to the Weald, the one factor he had most respected was its muted capacity. Life was everywhere but it was concealed in shadow, and that was just as it should be to him. 

The sun had banked low beneath the horizon now, so that when he looked up at the towering tree limbs above, he noticed the faint traces of stars beginning to cloak the midnight void beyond. In the darkness, black eye concealed by even blacker fur, his indigo eye glanced quickly around. And for the first time that day, his spidery appendages came to a hesitant halt. He reclined his head back and took of a drink of the chilly, swollen fog. 

That's when he noticed the scent of a newcomer. Had it not been for that single star, he might have been in such a mood as to pursue the stranger in hostile intent. But he was humbled by the vast skies and so, when he tracked the male to a nearby ravine, it was with as cordial a voice as he could muster that he interjected upon the scene. 

"Greetings," his voice was never kind; rough though ripened by youth. He cocked an eyebrow at the panting brute. "That hare did a number on you."