Redsand Canyon The quiet hour

The dark hound listened to the delicate footfalls of a wolf behind him. Though some of the land held softer dirt or sands, a good portion of the landscapes like these colored rocky halls, made sneaking upon others harder. He knew Nyra to be a warrior, yet not a spy, not a silent shadow, silently guarding, watching- like him. 

He sniffs, taking in her family scent, though he pushes through the dark corridors slowly. The moonlight shown down through the rocks only in small slivers in certain places, leaving it as dark as he. Of course, the wolves moved easily through it. He could only assume Nyra followed to keep an eye on him. 

But he had not seen her in a few days, not even in the communal den. When she begins speaking, he stops, turning around to face her and learn why be had not seen her around. She'd been hurt, badly hurt. Despite barely knowing her, his concern shown on his expression, his large pointed ears turning downward. He didnt like seeing anyone hurt. 

What she said caused his mouth to form like an 'O', a curiosity taking toll instantly. It shown as his ears perked up again, long legs carrying him closer to the great wraith. What did the ritual intel? He wanted to know what the breeding meant, what it would do for the cult in doing so. She had come to him, opening up on a similar past with dabbling with dark magics and demonic acts. Maybe if someone else understood how he felt here, he was meant to be here after all.