Deepwood Weald 'cause you'll never find the answers

Marruz couldn't decide whether he was enjoying or abhorring this mirror of a wolf. Nevertheless, he was not swift to move when the she pivoted once more to oppose him. His gaze was all the while trained resiliently upon the woman's shadowed skeleton.

Her words sounded as valuable as bluffs to the juvenile, who in turn only further furrowed his intense, Stygian brow. There was a lapse in his features that coincided impeccably with that of his father's, but it was lost amidst finer details — the grey sock and the pitchy void of a single eye. 

"Well we must be family," Marruz pointed out with a brazen chuff of the piercing, wintry air. His tone was colder, and, still, he did not waver. "You have all the marks of M'aiq in you." And the youth had not spoken such a name but once before.