The howls of night cats have drawn him ever more into the woodlands. There is an inexorable part of him that seeks to find death at it's source, to understand and to hear the last will and testament of these creatures. The cougars of Molodian are not unlike those of the north from whence he has come - vicious and larger than they ever should have been. Some twist of genes had given them a superior advantage along with a wicked temperament and yet he admired the beasts. They were the grim reapers of the night, the night guardians, and they did not brook disobedience from any.

White and black marked muzzle turns in the direction of a new scent, yellow eyes turning so that the diagonal black mark looks odd in the shadows of the night forest. The moon attempts to penetrate the canopy and in a few spots it manages to coat across his mostly blonde figure. One might mistake him for one of the night prowlers that comb these woods and seek nourishment, their screams frequenting the darkness. His robust figure moves with a sort of inborn understanding of the world; he is not graceful but neither does he stomp across the packed earth with negligence. He simply walks across the earth with determination in mind. Understanding is what he seeks and purpose.

Deathspeak was not a name given to him for little reason. Names were powerful tokens and he was gifted it upon the mercy he was to give another wolf for their sins. It was not a task pushed upon him but one he volunteered for and the marks on either side of his muzzle are evidence - the teeth marks of a wolf, the first he executed, but not until they gave him their last thoughts. Deathspeak - the keeper of those last chosen words.

He had wandered far away from the seaside since his meeting with the assassin female, Ava, her sharp words ringing in his ears. She was fascinating but he sensed not his purpose. Which is what drives him now, meandering, until he locates a figure in the darkness. Her scent is strong and powerful and SHE is powerful. Young, able, ready to take on a world. Destiny clings to her. She reeks of it. And it is waht draws him closer, black lined ears pressed forward and eyes upon her as he speaks in a deep tenor, but quiet.

"You are cloaked in darkness and I sense purpose from you."

For he was not just a speaker for the dead, but also a watcher of the living. And she had a whole lot of living to do.