Haunted Wood They say flowers can open new paths

Silent, yes. Shiranui nodded his head once. At his hocks, his tail wavered twice before falling still. The pale wolf’s gaze did not shift from the doggish one. The traveler found the stranger’s words to be curious. He did not appear to be unfriendly, only peculiar. The white wolf had listened to many mouths speak many words. How would this man be different?

The dog asked if Shiranui knew who had blessed them. He called the wolf a boy. The pale figure drew his head upward, defiance gleaming in the depths of his ruby stare. Shiranui was young, yes. He was not a boy. The white wolf had traveled across endless fields of green and white. He was as young as the wind, as much a boy as the mountain range.

Shiranui tilted his head. A low whine slipped from his lips.

What blessings did the dog speak of?