Spirit of the Miasma [Gero ]

Stillness. She watched the male as he came into sight, her body still and eyes watching. He appeared to have a lame leg, and this she noted and set aside as she analyzed the male. He was primarily white, though the thick mists that shrouded the air between them and allowed her to remain unspotted for the moment parted enough for her to spot the shadowy markings he bore.

Certainly not the most unusually appearance she’d ever seen, given her own looks, her bright red sire, her blue-shimmering black brother, and the wolves she’d met even in the past year, from Jupiter to Ignatius.

Perhaps the stranger felt he was being watched, because he glanced up and she was pretty certain he’d made out her shape in the mists. She waited until he’d called out before gliding forward. It was always a good time to practice her approach, and with the new name for her status in the pack, she felt the ghostly faux materialization meshed well.

An easy smile formed on her features as she stepped fully into view and dipped her head. “I am. You’re a short distance off the border of Valhalla.”

There was no threat in her tone, merely an easy, conversational lilt that held a mixed accent. Similar to his own, but with a slight Scandinavian or Swedish inflection, passed down from a great grandsire, Nova. Her long upper canines only added to the gentle roll of syllable off tongue, instead of slurring her speech, something she was grateful for. It’d been bad enough having two middle names.

Her head cocked as she queried, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think