Herbalists' Cache been training vipers to come for you

Accusatory in nature, the fade of his voice is answered by the startled halt of the frame ahead. Wind-ruffled fur raises. It has been long since he felt emotion like this seize his heart. A crippling pain settles in the void of his chest.

It is not him.

The Wayfarer knew this before he spoke. He’d seen the state of the silver windwalker with his very own eyes. Broken, twisted. Grey fur stained a dark red. The gruesome twist of a neck in a position it ought to never be in, and bone poking from a crushed cranium.

Yet the wraith holds a hood and mask, dark grey in the places that were once blood soaked.

Who are you? He hears his voice, yet the Wayfarer clenches his jaw, surprised by the blurted question and the desire to know.