Black Morass no end in sight

Wearing a stony expression written with sour lines, he was every bit the angsty teenager he made himself out to be. He snorted sharply at the smell of rotten eggs in the air. It burned his nose, here in this swamp. He was made for highlands, mountains, rocks and snow. Not this bog.

Ahead, a massive wolven figure. Mirroring his own closely in size. But earthen hued. Ice chipped eyes narrowed behind the dark veil pulled over his face. By instinct, his tail raised confidently over his hips. The tip twitched slightly, indicating he was not entirely hostile.

He called out in a deep, gravelly voice. A summons for the stranger to do with what he may.