For many moons he had wandered as a nomad. Farther and farther from Moladion his russet feet had taken him, across bodies of water and over mountains taller than many here could ever imagine. He had encountered other cultures and seen many wonders. And still, Zaqar’s nimble feet had led him here. Back to his old home. Standing at the crater’s edge, snow settling in tiny piles upon his back, he wondered how he had managed to find his way home, and why.

The demon – if he still deserved that title in the eyes of his ancestors – made his way down the snowy slope. The rocks shifted once in awhile, though he did not slip; Zaqar had always been particularly sure-footed. As he descended, he scanned about him to be sure he wasn’t spotted. The strangers here were not always friendly (nor had they been elsewhere, really), and his black coat was quite conspicuous against the white backdrop.

Upon reaching the crater floor, he paused for a brief moment to stretch, his large, dark head bowing low between his paws. Though he ducked down, his eyes never ceased their shifting, noting each movement around him. His time away had taught him many lessons, the most important of which was the value of suspicion. Luckily he had made his way across half the world with not many scars to bear, though this was largely due to his endurance while running.

The other lesson, he recalled, as his stomach grumbled persistently, was the true meaning of hunger. Between that and his frequent fleeing from others who would wish to make him an enemy, he had slimmed down quite a bit. He was still quite large, but his once bulky muscles had become trim and sleek. The effect was that he looked as half starved as he often felt, though he had to admit that movement was a bit easier without all the extra weight. Prey had been scarce on the way back, and with the blanket of snow now forming he knew it would only get more difficult to find a meal here.

The male’s best bet was to pick a common area. The riverside, crags, and woodland posed several weather and energy related challenges, so the logical decision was to head towards the grassy fields. There, the grass would be short and any prey would be easily spotted. Still, this meant that he too would stick out like a sore thumb, and catching anything was a long shot.

Zaqar crept as quietly as possible toward an open area, his feet gently pressing into the snow. He was not as vigilant about potential attackers now, for his hunger had taken over. More quickly than he expected, he spotted a rather fat rabbit. Lowering his body so that his belly was nearly grazing the ground, he did his best to keep from salivating as he approached his prey. He managed to sneak up behind the hare without attracting its attention, thanking the gods for the gift of snow on this day to mute his steps.

Just as he was bracing his haunches to pounce, a piercing howl broke the thick silence. His meal bolted and he landed with a jolt in the snow where it had been only moments before. Zaqar shoved his nose into the cold white fluff in frustration, then looked up as two more howls split the air. Ears flattened, he sought the loathsome creature who had lost him the rabbit. Within moments his violet eyes landed upon another dark figure, vaguely familiar but still he could not place it.

He wasn’t worried about stealth now, and as he ran he kicked up a dusting of snow behind him. As he neared the stranger, he considered what his mother would have done. Perhaps Ishtar would have killed this wolf and eaten of the corpse. The idea crossed his mind briefly that he could choose to follow the same path. Yet he had never had the same taste for wolf meat as the rest of the demons. No, he meant to teach a lesson here, not to kill.

A snarl left his throat as he bounded across the shrinking distance between them, but when he was just a few feet away, he pulled up short, showering them both in even more snow. Zaqar looked at the female in confusion. He knew her. “I know you,” he said, with just the hint of a question in his voice. Marked like a demon but also marred with the white of the angels, he had encountered her on the border of Iromar. If only he could remember her name. She still smelled of the swamp. He assumed she must still live there, or had recently visited. Zaqar knew all too well how the heady scent of bog clung to a pelt.

With nothing left to say to this female he knew but whose name he did not remember, the black and russet male stood his ground, head slightly tilted, and waited to see if she recognized him as well.