Who's afraid of the big, bad wolves?

Traveling beneath the canopy of pines, Rhazien is loping at a steady pace, following one of Absinth’s ravens that is soaring through the heavens above. The weather had died down for now, meaning the bird had an opportunity to patrol the area without batting against active snowfall. Truly, Rhazien didn’t need to be following it. Surely the creature could patrol an area without an extra set of eyes. But, being the ever-curious, ever-tactful wolf Rhazien was. He wanted to see this plan of Absinth’s in action, as she and Sephiran sought to use the birds as a reinforced means of patrol.

They didn’t own the forest yet, but their presence was heavy here. There were a few more kinks to be worked out, before they could add the Sparse Pines to their domain. But soon it would be theirs. Their scent was heavy here, lingering along the borders, swathing the trees in a thick musk as they methodically marked numerous pines. They wanted rouges and loners alike to know that a group was ready to move into this area; to snuff them out before violence ensued. Sephiran would have no qualms about killing lingering loners if they refused to leave.

The raven releases a cry above his head, alerting him to a change in the area. His serval companions follow in suit, veering off ahead of him to investigate. They are leading him to the East, towards the rocky, snow-covered beach, where their island materialized on the horizon. As he neared the waterside, a new scent danced in the breeze- one he recognized. The Hallows. Only, this was not the musk of Artorias he smelled, but instead, there was a feminine tinge to it. Youthful and supple, tantalizing to the senses. Ever curious, Rhazien continues his journey to the source of the smell.

His serval companions beat him to her, Zemir and Zemra stopping several yards away to observe her. And then, Rhazien sees her; a tall, slender woman adorned in a thick cloak, standing on the shore and gazing out into the East. Towards the island. Her scent is stronger now, The Hallow’s trademark smell indisputable, meaning, she was one of their members. At first, Rhazien weighs his options, deciding if he should approach, or leave her to her own devices. But he’s overwhelmed by his curiosity, the need to satiate the gnawing fascination eating away at his stomach. Why was she here, so close to mortal enemies? He just had to know.

Striding forward, Rhazien exudes an aura of neutrality; but there is no denying that suave, handsome undertone that always accompanies him, that charismatic, cunning guise that draws others in. His eyes are roving across her, inspecting her, analyzing, forming an assessment. She looks young, younger than Sephiran even. But with the cloak, he can’t see much more than that. “Beautiful, isn’t it.” He croons, motioning towards the island sitting on the horizon. With the sun's current placement in the sky, there is an ethereal glow cast over Ardens Glacies. “Rhazien Saxe.” He stops at a conversational distance, his companions clinging to each forelimb. “And you are?” A Hallows wolf no doubt, but who was she?

"Speech"