Deepwood Weald and between offering and banquet

She heard no response, yet she knew something or someone was out there. And something would not let her leave this little mystery unsolved. Painted ears pricking, sitting high atop her crown, she strained to listen for any further sounds of movement. Slowly, she carefully weaved onwards. Mindful of her placement of each pale paw. Leafy jade eyes tried to pry through the obscuring shadows, to make out the details of what she knew to be real.

Sight and hearing would only go so far. In the end, Keyni wound up relying more heavily on her sense of smell, in this particular case. The tinge of saltwater and sand were her guide, striking her nostrils heavily. It was a peculiar smell that she had not encountered before. A sharp contrast to the fresh scent of spruce, stone and soil. She didn't care for it, she decided immediately. 

Drawn closer, she seemed to materialize out of the mist, the paleness of her base coat having hidden her thus far. Only now, here, could she lay eyes on the form of a slumped wolven figure in a heap at the base of a tree. Water logged, tussled and bruised, he was in a sorry state. Knowing nothing of him, she dared not move in too close. But she did lower her head harmlessly, offering a low whine. She was curious of his plight, but more pressing was his obvious need to recoup. These woods and the moss, known for thriving on moisture, weren't exactly convenient.