Deepwood Weald You never knew? Good.

The ebonian had yet to notice the empress, who snuck behind him with utmost silence - her practices in tracking swept to her aid in such an instance, and she managed to keep her presence masked from the one she followed. If he had spotted her ivory coat amongst the crystal surroundings, he made no mention; she'd wanted to surprise him with an affectionate kiss on the cheek, but on this evening Raziel seemed to walk with a purpose. So she said nothing, following his steps and mapping his route with the precision of a hawk, who could visualise the tracks from the frigid sky.

Only when he met with two other wolves, draped in similar coats primarily void of colour, did she step forth from the undergrowth to slither up beside her king (being sure to gently bump her shoulder against his own), azure gaze tipping from wolf to wolf in silent assessment. What business did her husband have with these strangers?