The groan of a stick before it snapped echoed about the clearing. The bush paused and Cassandra well knew it was not her foot that snapped the dry branch. From the greenery came a figure, one that was not quite right. It moved on all fours like a wolf, but the proportions were off. The lower jaw was missing, the limbs too long and thicker than any true wolf's leg. Across its back was a bindle of javelins strapped in place. Covered in a multitude of furs ranging from the grey to white or black of a wolf. The furs were all about its body bound with strips of leather and forming rough wraps of a sort. Wolven Elears upon the top of its head, tail limp against the crouched legs. Sniffing at the dawn, this wolf, yet not, moved in its careful way towards the brush nearer the stream. Cassandra was in luck for the creatire did not spot her as of yet. She perhaps even noticed the slight limp the creatire did possess and coppery scent of blood that was just hinted at upon the air. It was unclear if it belonged to this creaturehowever.

The morn had come, and the stream was a successful little fishing spot. Large trout and bass slipping towards their breeding ground. A slight splash was audible as a turtle helped itself into the water. While the warrioir and the trader talked life still seemed to meander on. Typical of any lush forest and possibly even a comfort for those who knew that a still a silent forest contained something incredibly fearful. That when silence fell it was best to be wary. But for lucks design the birds atill chirpped andsang to the rising sun.

[@Kidd] [@Valor] [@Inertia]