Shadewood the wood's labyrinth

Qvasir's ears twitched slightly at the voice, measured and deliberate, as though the words themselves were carefully chosen before they met the air. He studied the storm-shaded male with a quiet intensity, his pale eyes narrowing slightly as he weighed the meaning behind a friend. It was a cautious offer, one that spoke to an individual accustomed to solitude—or perhaps betrayal.

It suits well enough, Qvasir replied, his tone calm and even, though there was a faint edge of intrigue in his voice. His posture remained neutral, though his movements were slow and deliberate, carrying him closer to the other wolf while maintaining a respectable distance. He was not one to rush trust, but he wasn’t blind to the potential value in measured alliances.

The male’s pale eyes, almost ghostly in their hue, drew Qvasir’s attention briefly before his gaze swept to the tense lines of his frame. You travel alone? he asked, not unkindly, but with the curiosity of one accustomed to the roads himself. His words lingered in the cold air, an open question that left room for a story—or silence.