Hushed Willows double

The masked wolf becomes aware of her presence, and Ketzia stares at him with open scrutiny. Injuries adorn the leaner figure of the male—scratches mar his features and she too feels the burn of the scar at her hind from her own fall from the mountain.

His posture remains amicable, allowing the pale sylph to relax, her own tail offering a neutral sway through the air as she takes in the hoarse voice. A voice unused—a wolf not used to companionship.

“No,” she replies, her own smoky wisp of a voice almost an echo in what was now an empty home. Taking a tentative step toward him, the she-wolf’s nostrils flare as she attempts to place his scent, finding it wholly unfamiliar.

“My pack claims the lake not far from here,” she offers to him, her exotic muzzle swinging in the direction she had come. She gave no voice to Stigmata’s dream of claiming the entirety of the mountain—in time, they would see what would become of her fallen beloved’s legacy. “Where are you from?”