The Heartwood Why does thou sit upon my grave

Alduin’s heard the tales of old. His father, Kynareth, told him stories about witches and shamen all the same. A mysterious bunch, though Alduin would not consider himself even a pinch religious, he does believe in mystics. Magic or spells as some would say and today he would have it proven to him that things of the such do actually exist.

Especially when he hears the crackling of bark and the rustling of foliage telling the presence of another. And when he turns to see exact what it is, he finds a sight that genuinely makes his mind go blank. 

A she-wolf of dark and light browns alike, lithe and mysterious. The image of the wolf from his dream sprouts in his minds eye…they look identical. The confusion shows on his face, whereas usually, his expression shows nothing. With furrowed brows and a tight mouth, he tilts his head as he gazes upon her form appearing from sheet of fog and ashen trees. 

Welcome home. She says, it cause Alduin to lift his head some as he looks upon her. He even widens his stance some, puffing out his chest to make himself bigger. Blame the toxic masculinity. 

Yet, with all this, he can’t help but think that she seems familiar. Not in the sense that he’s seen her in his dreams, but at another time on his life. But his sickness, it causes his memory to be just as unreliable as walking along a cliff at night.

“Who are you?” The hellhound breathes in a deep tone.