Alpine Lake Red Crossroads.

Kynareth's nose would soon find those threads of scent becoming sour as Dorus neared, stinging at his nostrils like rotton carrion. The jostling of leaves would be neither silent nor stealthy, and the Grandmaster's eyes would soon catch sight of two eyes staring back at him; one clouded as if the moon itself was held there, and the other a striking, vivid blue. Dorus paused only briefly with a tentative smirk splitting his foul muzzle, revealing rows of yellowed fangs and pale flesh weak from disease.

"I wouldn't get too close, my friend..." A low, bubbling tone with the most minute of rasps, "... You run with a pack, my enemy, the weak huddled together like ants in a hole." 

Ragged ears laying flat, his bony, sickly form wavering on the spot, Dorus spoke much more quietly then...

"... And I, a wolf of the New World, am looking for death."