Something was blatantly amiss. As the large male stalked through the drier marsh lands, he finally to note of the lack of fluttering and other small sounds with interest tacked on. A pack land had its hot and cold spots, places where the little things kept quiet in fear of the predators that resided and places where those same small things felt relatively safe to flit about and be heard. Not here, not this day. The misty lands of Iromar were cold even for winter. It was a familiar chill for this demon.

War. He could very nearly smell it. Having spent the majority of his life steeped in the martial teachings, Iromar practically radiated its current status to him. Even the other predators of the area were hushed, denoting a large movement of the apex species to and -or- from the highly populated areas. It was a dead zone; eerily quiet and... waiting.

Mondego's royal rimmed crimson eyes shifted from side to side slowly as he walked, very much aware of how a pack acted during times of such stress. There would be those who were on edge, either awaiting news from the current battle or dealing with the aftermath. Whether the warriors were still away or had returned, everyone would be keeping a vigil. It was highly unlikely that anyone came back from a war unscathed and having your fighters on recovery presented problems and anxiety of its own. He would not be surprised if his presence was met with hostility, as there were bound to be many unfamiliar faces in a new land. As any true demon, he welcomed such a greeting... nearly willed for it. If the Bloodmouth ruled these lands, he had no doubt she was raising Hell from the very earth.

He wondered idly to what stage the war had progressed. With the current ambiance, or lack there of, he would assume the forces had either recently moved out or just returned. For his Ishtar, he would readily join the fight. But, no... He was too late for that.

In the deadened silence of the hazy swamp, even the most ghostly of footfalls could be heard by one so trained and vigilant. Mondego remained on his course as the steps grew near, approaching from downwind and sounding decidedly... off. There was an injury; even if the female that invaded his field of view did not readily show it, she felt it. As his royal rimmed rubies set on the woman, he gave her only a brief glance. Vera's fur was thick, but an unnatural ripple here and there spoke of near fresh butchery. She had been in the war, this rather familiar face, a female from his very own season. He vaguely remembered her, haughty in her youth and, as he recalled, tacked on to Inugami and Baphomet quite regularly. And, as far as he could recall, Vera's mission from Hell had been one of information, to check the progress of his cousin. She would have answers.

The flame streaked demon planted herself in his path, her sapphire gaze raking him with recognition. She remembered him; he could tell by the slight tick to her eyes as she combed him over that denoted recall. Good. Then she was should be fully aware of where she belonged.

The Obyrith showed no sign of hesitation, his eyes returning to his path almost as quick as they has set upon the female in the first place. He did not slow his pace or outwardly pay her any form of attention, taking her silence as a personal challenge against his will. He would not lower himself, would not speak before her as if he were common rabble nor would he give her the satisfaction of physical display. He continued forward, shifting his steps only slightly to his right, and nicked her left shoulder with his own as he began to pass. He shifted his weight subtly as he made contact, giving it more force with hardly a show. He would walk through her as if she were a careless pup who had unknowingly placed themselves in the way. Nothing. His senses remained attentive for her response, though from a peripheral range, as he played a smirk that only reached his eyes.

This was a battle she could not win.

You're everything that a big bad wolf could want