The Tower of Wayrath: Of Kitty's Whiskers and Soft Silken Fur. A Scent Upon the Air that Tickles the Senses.

Indeed the draconic White Robe Master had smelled the faint scent of the feline prowling about just off to the path beside him. Only such a forest creature or living thing that the Master would have guided would have been able to do such. After a moment Salem paused to reguard the feline he could sense off in the bushes, assuming the poor creature was hungry, possibly starved from the "occupation" that had apparently been here at some time or another. The occupation that would never be allowed to return so long as a breadth of power was still alive in his otherwordly body. He still appeared as he always did as the sandy brown-slightly silver flecked-haired elf, for silver dragons especially preferred their humanoid forms. Druid and Sorcerer he knelt upon the path with a hand outstretched, the auras about his form and the ancient druidic forest magics would of course be ever so enticing to the woodland creature. A smile crept upon his handsome face as he looked from his outstretched hand to the bushes where he felt the poor creature. Perhaps as a suprise to the animal his voice sounded in a language she could understand, for the tongues spell was not lost to the great Sorcerer.

"No need to hide, little one. Harm shall not befall you here. Come and walk upon the path with me and perhaps.. we can find you something to eat."