Ravensblood Forest a place for my head

Natshana often visited this place when she was on the mainland. The aesthetic was top notch, right down to the bleeding trees. She was somewhat enamored with them—intrigued by how they worked and what properties the blood-like sap boasted. True to form, she was here today, smelling of a mixture of sea foam and lavender. (She liked the ocean just fine, but she could do without its scent.) At the moment, she held no herbs in her teeth. Instead, she walked casually, on the lookout for a particularly sap-ridden tree in the hopes of making sense of it. 

Unsurprisingly, her steps were unrefined. She was obvious in her advance and had, thus, alerted a stranger to her position. It was only a tactful lift of her line of sight that brought the other wolf into focus. She transitioned quite easily to a stop without any signs of aggression or concern. Her mother often regaled her a fool.

"Well, hello," she greeted him with some air of surprise. After all, she would have sooner welcomed straight into him. "Have you come to see the bleeding trees, too?" Natshana posed the question with an unnerving sophistication that hardly suited the childish inquiry. With any luck, this wolf was friendly—or, at least, willing to make conversation.