its crawling from underneath the surface

A lil vague and bland opener but it does the trick. Feel free to hop in and say hello!

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The worms crawled around the damp red leaves that scattered the floor, eating the decay. They wriggled and appeared to grow, large enough to raise a pile of leaves near off the ground. Or so it seemed.

A woman, her coat bathed in such colors, blended in with them. Her spine covered in their mosaic, the leaves almost looked like they belonged there. Yet she shook, her fur like a mane on the back of her neck as she tossed her head- a prized horse. The rotting flora would fall off with ease, back onto the ground where it started- and she stood on.

There was a trance in her eyes as she attempted to awake. Like her body moved on it's own, a possession some call "a will to live." The candle-lit glow of her eyes briefly obscured as she blinked, awaking her drowsy brain.

She stood, still as a statue, but thinking. As if she were in a dream she attempted to control and make lucid, the witch would watch birds overhead and bugs upon the ground without once turning her head. Just her eyes flashing around, as if she were paralyzed by thought.

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The forest south of the mountain he called home was a thing the pale man had not yet explored. All his travels had not yet brough him to this place and so, Stjornuati's knowledge on the location was lacking. This, he knew, was foolish of him and so sought to strike it from the list of items scrawled in some cryptic font inked across the worn papyrus. To not know the lay of the lands that surrounded Hrafnsvaktin was to open themselves to attack and error; not to mention, finding a dedicated hunting ground would also be smart.

Carefully, he picked his way along the sticky trees, side stepping fallen trees and other such obstacles. Hoof prints and disturbances in the layer of detritus along the forest floor here and there told the man a tale of prey, informed him that these lands held value, held secrets that the would help them survive the harsher times if sussed out. Such extraction of information would require more in depth investigation rather than the initial sweep the stareater was conducting in the present time, far more distracted by the one thing that he should have come to expect: the appearance of another.

This time was different, however; this time, he watched as a section of the leaves and dirt and rot shifted and moved, only to eventually reveal...

His eyebrows lifted, surprised and intrigued by the wolf that now stood before him, freshly woken from the earth as though she were some corpse brought to life once more. He wondered if she had indeed been dead, lost to this life in one way or another, then further wondered at how and why the gods had brought her back. Still, he said nothing, observing her in curious silence.

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Her wide eyes would rotate in her head like heavy stone marbles, slowly turning to gaze at the pale stranger from their corners. Pupils tiny and watching with intensity, before her gaze was broken by her own movement.

She shook out her coat, any remaining leaves or insect quickly went flying in whatever unknown direction.

The woman smiled, finally looking normal and less like a reanimated corpse.

”Have the gods brought me and man, or have they brought me to you? She questioned playfully, her head cocking to the side as her ears perked.

Completely different from just seconds before.

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She came to life as he watched, almost as if he was observing the gods pick and choose each piece of her to put together the woman that now stood before him. Had he been any other man, any other wolf, he might have shivered in discomfort as she smiled at him. He was not, and he did not. Instead, the stareater simply watched her with a cool indifference, tinted with the smallest glimmer of curiosity.

“Only the gods can answer such question,” Came the cryptic response for an equally cryptic inquiry. “They see something in you, to bring you back from beyond, ja?”

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