His conversation with Aithne had gone decently, or so he thought at least. He knew he still bore the stigma of a prior heir but he hoped that in time, such a thing would vanish. After all, it had seemingly worked for Raven despite her apparent adoption by Andras. At the end of the day, though, it all just seemed like an absurd distraction that was the unfathomable disappearance of Denali some season or two ago. Time had been a mess since he had discovered her absence - at first, he had waited, then he had searched but ultimately, he had so few choices. Her scent had vanished into the mists and he had been all but entirely useless in tracking it. In fact, he had waded out beyond Iromar for some time in search but nothing had happened. It was where his desperation to continue to defend his home had come from. He had failed too many of those he cared about, even he knew that.

Still, at least now he had a chance, right? Perhaps if he garnered power, he'd gather the strength to protect better and in turn, he could find her. Or, she'd come back. It had never occurred to him that she might have gone on her own volition. However, what had occurred to him was that something in the air felt unusual. It was as if he had been drawn to the outer marshes of the pack lands once more; something seemed to make his skin prickle and without an explanation, what was he to do other than obey that instinct?

Slowly, he dredged through the mud and reeds, sniffing wearily at the still air from time to time. It was in a sudden breeze that he caught the unmistakable scent of blood; fresh but old, too, an unusual combination. It was not unusual to smell such a thing in Iromar, not with so many wolves hunting, but the smell was distinctly lupine. If he had wanted to be calm, then surely he had failed. The images of his mother's body was still fresh in his mind like an open wound and before he even had time to contemplate the smell, he was off across the territory. He moved at an uneasy sprint, slamming against the shallow waters as he thundered towards the scent's origins. The closer he got, the more precise the scent started to become. Above it all, one name repeated consistently in his mind: Denali, Denali, Denali. He practically breathed the syllables.

It took him but moments - or at least, it felt such a way - to arrive at their den, a den that still lay delicately with Denali's own scent. He had allowed it to ferment without any new markings just so he could hang onto that piece of her but now, it reeked of blood. He moved onto their little island with a desperate howl, his eyes fast to find the form of Denali draped over the landscape, a bruised and battered mess like no other thing he had seen before. Though she still stood and breathed, crying out over the sounds of his feet and ragged breathing, he still could not see her as any better than his mother had been. To him, her injuries were worst, her situation more dire. Her pain was worst than any death.

"You're back! Denali..." his words were practically heaved through haggard lungs as he came towards her, his eyes wide with uncertainty as they trailed across her body. He saw only blood, smelt only blood. What had happened?

"What... why?"

He could not compose himself, drawing close to her with a gentleness that had never been seen before - not by him, at least. He drew close to her, feeling her tiny body beside him as he groomed what injuries he could. He needed a healer. She needed one. They needed help but, all that could come out of him was a voice grievous.

"Who did this? Nobody... can hurt the only one I care for. Who?"