Blackfeather Woods ghosts

She would find no authority figure in the cur who answered her call -- and perhaps she would be disappointed in this, that Imaq could not grant the access she desired -- but the buttered merle simply could not help herself. It was not so often that the Angakkoq got an opportunity to meet one so different, one that was at all like herself.  The curious yowls of the woman's harsh cry drew the wolfdog from the Woods with an investigative gleam in her tropical gaze.

"Hello," the shaman lilted in a foreign, heavy rasp as she trotted up to the borders and stopped in front of the coyote -- who was surprisingly even smaller than the tiny halfbreed. "Home?" she asked, not as an offer but as a means of clarification, her gilded crown tilting aside curiously. "Speak, Rowan?" 

The piebald allowed a kindly smile to unfurl upon her soft features, a gesture of welcome -- knowing that her friend desired the protection of all those who needed it in his forest. She was sure the canid was nervous enough, given how some wolves felt about other subspecies -- as Imaq had experienced herself far too many times.