Deepwood Weald don't tell me how we've grown

The day had been a chilling one in and of itself; cool and wintry amidst a velveteen fog. A crow had lighted upon a small patch of roots, hopping along the sinewous veins much to the delight of Marruz's spectating eyes. He liked the idea of how fragile the situation stood - in a mere twist of fate, it was quite up to him whether he wished to disrupt the tranquil scene.

Thus, when his name fluttered upon the smooth, undisturbed air, a single ear cocked itself gently towards the source of the audition. His nose twitched as he stood attentively, forcing his tensed muscles to perpetually conform to the alert posture. The only movement that followed was the cautious swivel of his gaze, sweeping along the outlines of tree and undergrowth to the hastening tempo of his heart.

He had to admit that the timing was eery. It had almost seemed as though the crow itself had spoken, and he quietly pondered this notion at the tendrils of his mind as he surveyed the surrounding territory. The illusion, however, dissolved at the sight of that familiar couple: intense black fur punched by an indigo pair. Except... These particular eyes were too prominent. Too outspoken. Had he not identified the newcomer as female, he would have sworn they belonged to that of his patriarch. He was dimly aware of a slight burning sensation in his stained forepaw.

Marruz blinked. Hard. That was all he permitted in the way of emotional discharge. In effect, the scene was odd in its way of motion; snow drifting seamlessly through the air whilst Marruz stared, unwavering, behind the powdery veil. Though it was in no way noticeable on his features, the shade was debating whether he should just leave. And yet, his lips parted as though by a mind of their own, and his ripened voice pushed words across the ensuing silence. 

"And who are you, exactly?" There was an intended drop of impatience in his ambivalent tone.