Have an Ehno? 
Since returning from his visit out east to Anathema, Ehno found the days passing by in a bit of a blur. His mind had been occupied with the project of setting up the stables, and he was beginning to feel at peace for the first time in ages. The arrival of the warmer season seemed to bring with it a reprieve for he and his, a much welcome change from the veritable tsunami of misfortune they had faced for the past few months. Physical and emotional scars still stung when dwelled upon, but the Marino was finding it much easier now to keep himself focused on the more pleasant aspects of life. Life was too short to repeatedly wallow in grief.
Today was another one of those days that flowed along with blurry edges. The Marino awoke from his brief nap to discover that afternoon was already well in progress. He sat up from where he had dozed near the shores of the lake now fully claimed by the Dreamers. Amber eyes searched idly across the lake’s surface as one hand brushed away the stray stalks of grass clinking to his chocolate pelt. He considered the idea of taking off on a solo hunt for a moment, but dismissed it in favor of simply returning to the Manor to see if there was anything needed of him. He stood, stretched his awakening limbs and took not five paces away from the lake before an unfamiliar call rang through the air indicating many things.
The Marino paused, turning his head in the direction of the song’s origin. Well, investigating this would without a doubt be more interesting than wandering about in search of a goal for the afternoon. He turned then, making his way through the familiar territory to discover what their visitor had on their mind. His two feet brought him forward at a slightly more than leisurely pace, so when he finally arrived at the borders, he was surprised to find that none of the other Dreamers had arrived there before him. Standing on the edges of the territory was a belted man with snowy fur, accompanied by two birds, one upon his shoulder and one within a cage, held to his side. A shock of colored fur stood up on his head, decorated by a spattering of feathers. The style of it reminded him of the Cercatori woman he had met not long ago.
He was certainly an interesting sight. The Marino came to a halt a short distance from the other, offering a nod in greeting. He pushed too-long chocolatey bangs from his eyes and watched the bird-toting wolf for a moment. He smelled of the Miracles pack, a scent the Marino associated with the pumpkin-hued knight. “Ciao, stranger. Quite the entourage you have there,” he commented, words ringing through the air with their characteristic Italian lilt. The Dreamer’s curiosity was piqued. He couldn’t fathom what reason another pack wolf would have to approach their borders with his feathered companions. It was possible he had an acquaintance within their ranks, but Ehno could not recall any specificity to the stranger’s howl.
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