Swiftcurrent Creek and i'll use you as a warning sign

o dear

Whatever moments had slipped past, the shaodwrunner had not kept track. The siren’s crooning stirred him for a moment, causing his muzzle to tilt up, nostrils flaring as he tried to decipher any scent upon the breeze. Nothing gave away the eerie sound yet—the beckoning. His brows knit closer, the light can’t of his head as his ears focused solely upon the rustling nearby.

He had partially expected the ghostly appearance of his brother to come through the foliage, a smirk on his broad face to indicate the unearthly noises had been him—a prank, in the dead of the night and a place that held such familiar heartache.

He remained still, knowing his brother unlikely to imitate any such sultry and dulcet tones from his vocals, waiting to see what ghost it was that sought him in the night.