She has always been an oddity. I still recall the first time I had found her in the ravines. We both had been young. She had been uncertain and yet, she has grown now. She has become something more than an unsure, hesitant child. It is a difficult thing to understand. I do not know why I enjoy her company, just as I do not understand entirely the connection between Lihi and I. These are things I must uncover alone. Perhaps it is her quietness, a distinct change from the constant sound of the world around. The quietness eases me. It allows me to think. Or perhaps it is her likeness; I can look into her and see parts of myself, reflected back in improved clarity. Whatever it is, I do not understand it, I merely know it to be the facts. Her company is something I desire, as is seeing her content in her place as she lingers about Glorall like a shadow of death.

Winter seems to be leaving us soon. No longer do the skies swell with darkness; the snow comes less now, and the sea does not seem so wild as it clashes against the stone and sand. I watch it from the dunes, absorbing the consistency of each rolling movement of the ocean: it is grounding. After the events of winter, I need such a thing. There are still parts within me that seek to rip Lihi out of whatever foxhole she is hiding in, just as there are parts that still desire to inspect the Asteraia girl from within just to see what life looks like in its most helpless of stages. There are infuriated parts of me, perhaps. Infuriated with my own lack of understanding - of myself, however. It is why I seek peace this today, stretching out in the darkness of my den and allowing my eyes to drift between dream and reality. Perhaps I will sleep soon, though I do not doubt such a sleep may feel as if I never did.

Eventually, however, there are the familiar sounds of paws above me. Initially, I slide my eyes shut in disinterest but they soon flicker open once more - I know the sound of such paws. Quiet, always so thought out. She is here. She has come for me. It cannot be helped that I move so suddenly, rising from my den with a practiced ease. As I move from the shadows, my eyes lock onto hers. I wonder if she has ever seen her own eyes. They fit perfectly into Glorall: water, stained with the blood of those that we hunt.

It takes me several moments to even spot the pheasant that hangs from her mouth. I have approached her all while watching her eyes, coming now much closer than I typically find myself. Only now do I rest my eyes on her prize for several brief moments before moving back to meet her eyes; my brow raises in a silent question, but I am quick to fill the void.

"For us?"

I ask simply, stepping closer until I am within only some foot or two of her. I can smell the combination of saliva and blood, an enticing thing if there ever was one.