Though only a few moments had passed, the tension made them feel far longer.  The hairs on the back of Sanguin's neck were raised like hackles; she could not shake the ominous feeling that had befallen her.  When a sound reached her, a forlorn, despairing cry of anguish, she flinched and immediately drew her scimitar.  Nothing immediately jumped out at her, but, despite her rough demeanor, she remained on edge.

Taking slow, measured steps, she began to advance.  Her armor clinked softly with every step, and from behind the face of a crimson wolf she keenly observed the alleys for any sign of danger.  Every corner became an obstacle; every shadow became a threat.  She considered changing to wolf form to move more freely and quietly, but there was the chance of rushing blindly into the hyped-up threat to worry about.

The unmistakable sound of impact caused her to grow still.  It came from a small path she had been planning to overlook, since any threat worth its salt would surely be too big for such a small alley.  Choosing to investigate, she moved down the little alleyway, holding her shield out in front of her.  A moment later she emerged into a larger alley, one clearly connected to a nearby street and bordered on one side by tall, picket fence.  Immediately she discovered the place's sole occupant, but for a moment he puzzled her.  The man who had punched the wall, the one uttering the blood-curdling wail, seemed to be nothing more than cloth.  Her presence, though, seemed to alert him, and when she saw his face -or lack thereof- she assumed a battle stance.  Nothing good could come of a visage shrouded in such darkness.  No words issued forth from beneath the mask; she was waiting to see if Akal, like some wild beast, would immediately attack her.  Diplomacy could come after, if he proved to be nothing more than a seriously-creepy hobo.