Traydon River

This river is famously known for its fish!

#~we.wear.the.grins.of.the.smiling.dead~#
IP: 78.145.119.214
Posted on December 1, 2011 at 04:13:48 PM by Craven

The grey, black and white brute raised his head from his scent, filled with the niggling feeling he was being watched, and glanced over his shoulder. Nothing there, and yet... And yet...

His ragged ears pricked at the laugh, and he let out a snarl as he spun round. At first glance there was nobody there, but he was certain he had heard it. He raised his head and breathed in, his trained nose picking up the scent of a fey. Yes, somebody was there all right.

It was like picking out the hidden message in an illusion- first he noticed individual shapes,   then shadows, then suddenly it came together to make a wolf, perfectly camoflauged, almost invisible. He forgot his anger; they had many wonders in his land, but none like this.

"You, there." his voice was, as always, a growl, but his posture was no more aggressive than normal, and his amber eyes glinted with interest. "How do you do that?" he wasn't one to mince words. 

These creatures might be filthy little heathens, he observed, but Void and Hect had been right. There was something different in these lands. Nothing when compared to the majesty of the Faceless Ones, of course, but... Interesting, none the less. He wondered if he could use it, this gift that the Dark Gods had brought to him to aid him in his hunt of the worse-than-heathen.

The wind changed, and his scarred muzzle whipped round to take in the scents. Slowly, like a rock splitting, he smiled. Sparrowhawks scent was there, he was sure of it, faint but there. 

The trail was laid again.

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