Deepwood Weald What the Night King wants

Mist provided shelter for all the darkest creatures stalking the earth - an eerie cloak of murky, nebulous grey that sat in silent watching over the clan's domain. When the sky had settled in tenebrosity and the wind whispered nefariously through the woods was the reaper's favoured time to slip from his den and trail the weald's shadowed kingdom, weaving between the looming trunks with sinister ease; a ghost of the dead, a walking mystery.

Only when the sovereign's scent curled to his lips after tasting the air did he pause, glacial orbs surveying the surrounding atmosphere with a quick flick of his gaze - he tucked himself forward, and then from the shadows emerged the ebony ruler he'd anticipated. For a moment silence was maintained, but Aries slipped quietly to the man's side, dipping his scarred muzzle in greeting. "Damien," he murmured, voice a rough concoction of low baritones steeped in the jagged edge of a perilous cliff. Nyx's mate was one of the very few mortal creatures that the Svartell held within him a deep respect for, an appreciation, a trust - such a rare light in the demon's eyes, a vision which few could claim. It was this that stopped him from dissolving into the mist just as swiftly as he'd swept from it, choosing to align himself at the flank of the brute. "Do you mind if I walk with you?"

Though, if it appeared his presence was unwelcome, he would depart immediately to continue his borderly patrol; his duty as a soldier to the Melonii Clan.