The Heartwood i guess we'll never know

The brindled beast stalked forth, he slept none for there is no peace in sleep either. Meditating only helps ease his anger — or rather channel it. And if it does anything, it helps him plan.

He hasn’t done his daily meditation, his moody is rugged at best and murderous at worst. But that’s not uncommon for him. Yet, here he is, moving along thorn bushes and painful wraps of dead vine. Stepping carefully, but not immune to a mishap here or there. Though his massive weight and broad shoulders do make it harder to traverse the tangle of thorns he brushes past. Blood wells miscellaneously over a brindled pelt, hardly noticeable through the complicated stripes and shades of an ashen pelt and even less so on his midnight furred chest and belly.

He moves on, until he smells a scent leading into the land of The Forsaken.

His head lowers and lowers to the soot sprinkled ground. 

A stranger.

He lifts it ominously, gazing into the wood line. His paws move on their own accord and eventually he finds the strong form of his Harbinger. And no, not only that, but a small female painted in silvers. He here’s the tail end of Dreven’s words,

Get up and leave or join us before I kill you.

Alduin doesn’t correct him, but he hears the growl in the other man’s voice — the threat. He’s not bluffing. Alduin knows that, but does she? He hopes she can differentiate context clues.

Still, Alduin stalks in from behind, slipping past Dreven — so close — shoulder brushing shoulder but no other contact besides a curled tail that just so happens to get caught on the others nape. He continues onward, eyeing this woman down like prey — only there’s a touch of dark amusement in his eyes. 

“You find yourself in the Heart of the Forsaken, stranger.” His voice is calm, collected, no growl in sight besides the deep timber of a rasping voice. “Do you wish to stay?” The Damned asks then, tone heightening in question, tone tantalizing and mockingly inviting.