Seaside Moors crow feathers and obsidian

it didn’t take long for someone to appear …but this pack wolf did not extend any sort of greeting to him; not even a chuff. glacial gaze splices thru the air to study her, unsure what he is to make out of her lingering and staring. would his mood’ve been more jovial, would he have been the jesting type: wintersbane might’ve joked that he knew he wasn’t handsome but that she did not have to stare; he, however, is and does not.

thankfully, he does not have to ponder the silent, monochrome woman’s strangeness for two long as someone else appears and this woman, draped in a pelage of warm cinnamon and creams does address him. glacial gaze moves to her then, assuming her to be a leader as he dips his head in a display of respect and difference, melting the previously neutral posture he previously held. rusalka. erzulie.

i am wintersbane, he introduces himself in his smoky timbre, the soft rasp of scarred throat and scarred vocal chords never again to croon the richness of velvet; instead cursed to murmur the rough and rasping melody of whiskey as it burns on the way down. and i’m in search of a home. for the last time, he hopes. he’s spent too much of his life unsettled, sometimes of his own making and sometimes because life is cruel and sees to divert his path; this time, he's made up his mind, he was choosing his own path and sticking to it thru hell or high water.