Blackfeather Woods change of tides

At times, the spirit visited the land from which she was born; well, her mortal soul, anyway. Today was no different than any other time. The priest did not remember when last she visited. The only thing she knew was that when she arrived today, it was different. The scents warned her, but the spirits lured her and the ghost, she could not stop herself. Still in high spirits from the hunt filled with bloodlust and anguish — for the prey, not the wolves, of course — but also still very far lost in the spirit realm, she wavered for but a moment at the pack's borders.

They were calling her, and she could do nothing but heed. What sort of madness would it be if the priest would value this mortal bag of bones and flesh and skin over their commands! Besides, the wolves of these lands must know of Sithis — some must even hear his whispers too! — so how could the visit of a priest, of a ghost chosen to deliver his will ever be wrong?

Without hesitation she stepped forward, pale eyes swimming and her steps light and ethereal; longing once more to be engulfed in the deepest darkness of the forest.