Haunted Wood the same tragedies: ultimate damnation

the hushed voice of the woman reaches his ears, silverbound gaze already drawn upon her approach. a flick of left ear is given; quiet contemplation his adopted mask as he lets her question hang in the air between them. the herd was not his purpose here; simply a veiled front. a distraction. an illusion. and she did not smell of the pack that lingered nearby.

that didn't mean that she couldn't provide him with useful information.

issaros, greets the sandviper, falling into his native tongue having gone without speaking it for sometime now. i was just tracking them today, the sandviper shatters his silence, deep timbre pitched low. not a whisper but not it's usual volume either, settling somewhere in the between; a convenient lie spun effortlessly from his lips. it felt too easy, like swallowing oilslick despite that he knew it might hold consequences.

they might belong to the pack that claims the caldera, a gesture towards their claim with his muzzle. and though i have not yet been chased from the herd, it has stayed my paw.