The dance of the death

It was Scylla's bush dog that alerted her to the presence of one sitting at the border. No call was given, no howl to summon a member of Obscura, but it was still odd for a wolf to just be sitting at a border. Especially her border. The slate and cream fae extracted herself from the warm embrace of her...wolf of sworn servitude... and exited the den. She made her way towards the border, the bush dog leading the way to where the stranger sat.

In the end, it wasn't a stranger at all. Black and blue eyes fell upon a cloaked figure, the piece of fabric shielding the visage of the wolf, but the scent was clear. "A Klein, I see." Still standing on her side of the border, Scylla raised a brow at the brute, then motioned with a flick of her muzzle towards him. "Take off the cloak. Show the Sovereign of Obscura which Klein you might be."

"Scylla Klein"