These Boots Are Made For Walking

The woods were dark and eerie, frightening most right out of their skin as soon as something moved for sure. Carthage, however, liked the mystery of the forest and the haze that lingered and crept through the tree's like the souls of the Underworld. It hardly moved on it's own until a presence came through, adjusting itself to fit around the being and move away accordingly. When one was still, the haze settled and lingered at the heels, just high enough to make it look ominous and cold.

He hadn't been wandering for long, pressing deeper and deeper into the Soulless Forest. He wondered how the place got it's name if it looked as if ghostly souls were creeping their way through but he didn't ponder on this question for long. Before him, a woman stood dipping her chin to the cool water of the winter river, lapping at it's chilled resource. He kept his distance for now, although he wasn't hidden. Standing out as plain as day, the monochrome beast advanced towards the woman adorned in intricate jewelry. Her pelt reminding him of the dirt, the foundation of life, but something else about her made him curious. Perhaps it was the scent of Hannibal lingering on her coat that drew him near, the jealousy and minute rage that was building made him question why he felt so drawn to this place. These wolves weren't Kleins, they were impure blood! He still didn't understand his decision to involve himself in something like this, but for whatever reason, Carthage chose to hang around and see what he had planned.

Approaching the woman with a level head, or at least attempting it now, he assumed she already knew he was here. The wolves of Erovrare didn't seem to be weak or unintelligent, so he let his confidence shine as he approached without a word. Venturing towards her right side, he approached the water source and dipped his chin down, mimicking her just moments before.


"Speech!"
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