Haunted Wood i am the quiet &

the witching hour is nigh as kvasir steps into the haunted wood. sugarspun moonbeams filter down through cracks in thick canopy of the old, gnarled oak trees; defiant. or lucky. the leaves have begun to turn and in some cases the limbs have begun to become skeletal. nothing overly noticeable yet, lest one was looking but soon the trees would be bare. he weaves ‘round the large gnarled trunks, moving swiftly thru the fog that writhes upon the forest floor like a living entity. for a moment it rises upon a soft breath that stirs the dead leaves at his paws; a soft sigh from the forest the viper prowls.

kvasir continues forth, towards the heart of the territory, unperturbed by the hair raising wails and yips of vulpine nature, mixing with the highpitched brays of the deer that have made this place home as he moves. the time in the hourglass was rapidly receding to the bottom half and soon dawn would break the horizon. he hopes to have found a place to shelter and sleep away the day, preferring to travel in the throes of night when the air is ( sometimes ) cooler.

Zsuzsa came to discover this was not a young land. It was historic, spectral, and felt something unholy. Before the Nightwalkers, before all fauna, the unholy was there… waiting. It was the same belief in a historic, spectral unholiness that drove so many modern paranormal stories. There was latent anxiety about this area. The Mackenzie ventured from the southern outskirts, tracking after pronghorn that turned into a figment of the imagination. She affirmed the delusion by encountering another wolf not of this domain, passing through, hearing the pronghorn but not seeing them. He provided the Nightwalkers namesake of an obsolete pack that once claimed these grounds. The lens-like lenticels of birch trees watched in a silent survey of the two when they first met before both agreed it was wise to continue on separately; quickly departing from the trees with deadpan “eyes”. Despite leaving the area of the birches, the bizarre energy of the area lingered ever heavy as she entered the hazier quadrant of the wood.
 
Switching back to her nocturnal trek, she previously traversed midday for hunting purposes which proved to be futile. No large game, no suitable meal. The martens and shrews were gamey but Zsuzsa wasn’t in a position to pick and choose. As she waded through the oak, she was uncertain what direction she was roaming but suddenly stopped dead in her tracks. The distant laments of fauna weren’t what agitated her, it was a presence that seemed too close for comfort. She couldn’t see it, but she could feel it. But where?
 
Her fine hairs had been static ever since first passing through but now they prickled at full attention along her spine. Her tail rose to a vertical plane, ears thrust forward, and from her throat purled a low growl. Unbeknownst to her, there was another in the area that she could not discern from the thickness of the fog. She only saw ghostly oak outlines if she was close enough in proximity, otherwise had been venturing into a misty void. Her thoughts traveled back to the Nightwalkers, picturing their phantoms displeased with her mortal trespassing on their land. A growl wouldn’t do much to deter such spirits if that is what Zsuzsa was dealing with at the present moment but contended to face whatever unknown presence set her on high alert in the fog.

Edit as of 9/23, character went inactive and exiting Zsu.

Standing her ground, Zsuzsa waited a full minute melding with the misty fog. Whatever apparition was present suddenly vacated the area and she felt the energy of such leaving without seeing its physical form. The Mackenzie decided even if it was the haunt of ancestors of the Nightwalkers, she would waste no more time lingering on their grounds. Nimbly and quietly, she slipped out of the Wood.