Deepwood Weald 'cause you'll never find the answers

Marruz didn't often approach people. In fact, he couldn't recall a time at all in which he had introduced himself first. The thought had been preposterous to the inky boy, having been of reclusive nature since birth (no pun intended in regards to his arachnid features as a pup). 

But something about the shade that crossed his path - slinking along the undergrowth - intrigued his vagabond mind; forced his thoughts to settle for the moment upon what possible origins could be discovered. His swift appendages carried him seamlessly in pursuit of the newcomer, slipping with that stealthy stride of his that hardly stirred a hare. The lone grey sock flashed every step or so beneath him, though its faint outline was somewhat concealed by the haste in his gait. 

He followed the female until her scent was upwind, parting his maw to investigate her derivation. Faintly, he detected the vague scent of the Melonii upon her. His heart quickened its pace; overcome by curiosity for the woman. She was older and clearly just as reticent as he, which was yet another perk to the situation. Plus, he could recognize that stride from a mile away: she was avoiding him. Not the other way around this time. The notion made the mischevious side of Marruz all the more eager to confront her.

So, he just grunted loudly and hoped that much would suffice. He straightened in anticipation of her turning to face him; indigo and black orbs indiscernible but perhaps glinting a shade of inquisitiveness in the mirky gloom of the Weald.