Shadewood i've got gold and silver in my bloodshot eyes

Very aware of all that was brought to the base of their home, Cry watched, interested in how the russet was wary enough to not cross  the borders as so many others had tried to do. In fact, the ex-assassin was grateful, and he felt himself less aggrivated because of it. Earlier that day, or rather, in the preorder of dawn, he had wanted to go fishing, but had ended up chasing off a series of intruders from the watering hole he regularly used. 

However, rather than sticking to the pessimism, the Phantom watched this rather large wolf, and the thought crossed his mind - 'What if they had come looking for help?'. Cry watched the large wolf for some time, glacial gaze dipping between thickly pelted legs to notice this was in fact a male. Bringing that stare back up, the retired Nightmare could see this body language was not urgent. It was simply...

patience. 

Pulling himself free from the shadows that bethrothed the threshold of Shadewood, the living shadow walked with confidence across the sea of snow which covered the ground. Though he had naturally silent footsteps from the eons of assassination work, this time he allowed them to be heard, as he wanted his company to know the silent doorbell had been recognized. 

As the chill waltzed over the timber-mixed's coat, he deftly shook it out, allowing it's full volume to be used; was a bit chipper, out this morn. Irises that resembled the temperature around them met with those wise periwinkle's, and the ebonian halted his calm gait a meter from the company, athletic body standing with a subtle regality. If he were to rule these woods with his Family, he had to ensure those who came by were aware of them. Obviously this male had caught the idea, and this led Cry to believe they had been doing their job rather well, up to this point.

"Hello," the baritones swam with a slightly aged trot to the darkly mixed russet as frigid blues regarded him. "What brings you to the Keep?"