Each velvet moment of dusk passed with but a whisper of the world as it drowned away into a sea of inky nightmares. What brilliance of pigment had remained smeared across the horizon in haphazard paint strokes was gone, bled away into a watercolor indigo and soon… nothing but the perpetual black of eventide. Somehow the sounds of the insects had too, died away… their symphony a choir unto a black parade, a lullaby to old forgotten gravestones. And the world was just deathly still. The night was cold, not dreadfully so but the brisk flavor of autumn was evident with each trickle of breeze out of the south. And upon that breeze danced the scent of the ancient conifers, but too the moist decay of the falling leaves dressed in their dazzling pallet of color. It was through that cornucopia of scents that the ghostly blue wolf searched, trying desperately to meander his way through and find the spark of life… that of blood and bone. And then he found it, found her, and she very quickly found him.

In that moment Goblin could no longer feel the icy rush of water as it swirled around his legs and rushed beyond where he stood and into the distance. For a moment he was frozen, ever fiber hardened in stone as if he was a gargoyle erected to stand as guardian over the stream. If being raised in Kancaska had tough him anything, it was to be prepared for the absolute worst. And to expect trickery and disillusionment at every turn. He would not let anyone have the best of him, and they would find out quickly that his trust was something precious to be seen. And slow to be earned.

When the stranger finally emerged from the grasp of utter darkness, the shadows dripping off of her as if they flowed right out of her being, he could not help but raise his head slightly, his bushy tail held aloft. The air of authority and confidence was plain, she owned that countenance like a queen. Was she an alpha then? Or perhaps a loner who had hardened themselves to the solitude of living without a tribe to call their own. He shifted towards her, shaking his shoulders as she spoke as if to loosen the vibrato of hackles that had stood so firmly moments before.

"No need for the theatrics. I promise I won't bite...hard." … "I'm Avery."

She seemed playful in her words though, perhaps taunting even. And he considered them carefully before responding. ”Avery then, is it? So quick to give me that which is yours alone.” His voice was low, cold and unforgiving. It was not threatening though, it was simply was, as a despondent spirit may be. He stepped closer to her, moving from the center of the river to just off the bank. Nostrils flared, taking in her scent, one which held not only her own aroma but others… a pack. Were there others out there then? Did he stand now, surrounded and outnumbered? No… he would have smelt them too, heard the rustling of the forest floor beneath their feet. No, she was alone as far as he could tell. His head cocked slightly to the side, those green eyes never leaving hers. ”And are you of this land Avery? Or are you merely a vagabond like myself? I am of a land far and away from here and this place is nameless to me.”