Luneshale Pass another odyssey

The sound was faint, almost imperceptible against the keening wind that swept through the pass—a soft scrape of rock, the whisper of displaced gravel. But it was enough. A shadow moved above, framed against the jagged peaks like a dark wraith, before it slithered down with eerie grace.

Samirseti emerged from the ledge behind her, his movements fluid and deliberate, each step placed with predatory precision. The cold air seemed to cling to him, wrapping his golden-black form in a veil of quiet menace. His golden eyes glinted, catching what little light the gray sky offered.

His tongue flicked across his lips—a slow, deliberate motion—before he broke the quiet with a voice like a low purr. “Well, well,” he purred, his voice low and edged with mischief. “Look who has come out to play.”