Broken Antler Fen when we drive

"An acolyte, this visitant?" Mephistopheles considered for a few beats of the heart, flicking the sharply pointed remnants of their ears. "Perhaps, in a way. I follow no one faith, but I know what I see, hear and smell. I know what the hidden tastes like."

Leaning back, Mephisto reached a hind leg forwards to scratch at the thick fur of their neck. A shiver had gone down their back, be it from a penetrating breeze or proximity to something otherworldly, they did not know.

What they could see was the way the other wolf's eyes had gone colder, the air around them going from surprised to guarded. It was an understandable reaction, but due diligence was given. Their job, for now, ended there was that warning.

"I am called Mephistopheles Van Zout, a hunter of the malign things that prey on living souls."