Get out of my den.
Reaper, Widow
Time felt slow during these months as Mae patrolled the borders of Wraiths Woods. Though no unusual scents disturbed her senses this time, a nagging unease settled in her stomach. It was undeniably strange. The skies carried an eerie red hue, and here she was, fulfilling her duties for the Hellborn pack. The forest was notably cooler than usual, a mystery that puzzled her; still, she relished her time with the pack and especially with Reaper. Mae had her reasons for not yet fully engaging with the other pack members, but she knew that would come in due time—it would all happen when the moment was right.
For some, the untouched backwoods felt like a harsh and unwelcoming place. Unlike the vast, open spaces that seemed devoid of life, the forest was thick with trees, offering some shade and only a few patches of sunlight. The area was dense and overgrown, with roots creating thickets that provided shelter for various mammals and wildlife. At the center of this wilderness lay a fishpond, which had been a boon for fishing enthusiasts, particularly during the unpredictable frosts that disrupted the natural rhythm of the area. Parts of the pond were even blanketed with a thin layer of ice; with just a touch, it could easily be shattered. However, she wasn’t particularly hungry at the moment—perhaps she would return later for a snack.
The dark-furred woman, marked with patches of melanoid and a sable stripe along her back, approached her companion. As she neared the entrance of the den, an unfamiliar scent overwhelmed her senses. Her tail flicked sharply behind her as she hesitated at the den's opening. Lowering her head, she tried to identify the strange aroma, her ears shifting alertly atop her head. A shiver ran down her spine, and her hackles bristled in response. Something felt off.