The leshen, old and dangerous creatures, older than the Continent itself. Guardians of the forest, some believed them to be gods, others knew they were just that, beasts. When a leshen attacked someone, they rarely left anything for the vultures. This one, Malak, was like any other. An old leshen that lurked in the deep woods of Velen, hunting down any unfortunate wanderer that dared disturb the virgin forest. When the crows cawed, it was a sign, an alert that he was nearby.

Which was precisely why rarely anybody wandered too deep into the woods, all of the villages nearby knew of his presence, but none who had seen him had lived to tell the tale. None but one, anyway. One human who had become as integral to the land as any wolf or hare. This human was marked by him, and as long as they were in the area, he would be reborn. The two understood each other. Not by words, it was more complex than that, Malak like any other of his kin his pattern of speech was pretty limited. Words were not needed, though, not when such a bond welded by ancient magic was there.

He heard them before he saw them, sensed their feet disrupting the grass. Sensed every vibration of the steps as they walked closer to his totem, and he knew it was time to come out of his lair. In a moment he was in front of them, staring down with hollow eyes behind the skull that adorned his head.

He had no need to speak to communicate he was glad to see them, all it took was one gesture, and roots sprouted from the ground to gently nudge them closer. One hand reached forward, cold and rough with the bark that covered it, yet the touch of his claws wasn't aggressive. Merely curious, carefully leaning down to their height as he ran the branch-like digits through their hair. The forest seemed to thrum with ancient magic as they got closer, their bond making Malak stronger.