Redtail Rise the landscape garden

Silence walks in the steps of her own front paws, drifting like a low hanging fog across the taiga. Shadows cling to her pitch coat, a drapery of finite darkness that would vanish should the sun find her.

It never seemed to. Mori was good at avoidance of light. So on the revenant went, low and lurching, a Frankensteinian creature of twitching, rolling joints, stitched together. She walked. And she walked.

Until her eyes found a shadow, a shade, the color of old, rusty blood. Mori raised her head, only an inch or two, to peer at the wolf. The smell of urine filled their nose, but did not get more than a single twitch of skin beneath thick black fur.

She nodded, slightly, an acknowledgement and a greeting all in one.