Haunted Wood something wicked this way comes

His presence was noted quickly, but he remained still - as still as a statue, frozen in stone with the ever-watching eyes of something lifeless, and yet alive all the same. Untold secrets were kept locked in the security of silence, guarded with a shield behind the pools of his gaze, the icicles that protruded from within; the key had been discarded long ago, swallowed and cast away.

Foolish, the reaper thought, as careless words were passed on the wind toward him. Foolish, that he would dare to test the snakes that slithered in the undergrowth, the knight who guarded the shadows - but who would expect anything more? It was no mystery that the wolves who trailed outside of the Clan or the bloody borders of Blackfeather were often plagued with stupidity.

The Svartell almost let a sigh of boredom flee his lips, but sealed them together with a blank expression. "Who are you?" came the low voice, deep as a storm's grumble.