Haunted Wood never make a change

The stranger's facial expression displayed a quizzical lift of eye ridge. The wolf peered as the small charcoal marks beneath each eye swayed with the conversation. The drifter didn't place too much question of the sincerity of her tone until another question was presented. It poked at the reasoning that had been ingrained within the inky beast since birth. "To keep them from coming back," he responded almost cautiously. A cunning squint of features raked over the counterpart draped in mist. 

Ears tutted at the explanation of seeking cover from the rain, unfazed, personally, by the sky's tears. "Hello," he responded in kind, adhering (for once in his life) a rather neutral introduction towards a stranger. Her request to leave did not garner an answer, a simple tilt of jawline sufficed as response to her query there. There was plainly no desire to see the distant female off just so soon. Silence charged the damp atmosphere for a short spell. "Do you know this place?" he asked with a somewhat indifferent tone to disguise actual interest. As if the woods could convey their own conversation, gaze swept upwards to the gnarled and wild oaks. They were an ancient type and their importance in lore had always garnished fascination.

"I've never been," he admitted conversationally, splaying ears back to scent the air and expose luxurious throat in some sordid attempt at flirtation.