Seaside Moors Stare at empty chairs.

What's your business here? The mist appeared to call, sounding too loud, too close, and oddly transient at the same time.

The figure cast a warmth in her periphery. Without meeting their eyes, Stryx halted her progression and let the moment hang. In that moment she took her time to assess the situation, try to get a handle on this new face crossing her path.

Her tail, silhouetted at her hocks, swayed slightly - not being the friendliest rogue in the land, she saw now reason to be excessively deferential. The stranger was just that, unknown to her in every way; except they held the mark of Rusalka. It had been some time but Stryx had a good memory.

Popping in for a visit. Stryx replied.

I'm a friend to Rusalka. Helped deliver some kids a few months ago - here for a check-up. Her voice was coarse from misuse. Warm breath plumed from her lips, smelling strongly like wild garlic. Traces of her last gathering session clung to her underfur, if one cared to look.