Perhaps he ought to have been more present within the pack's day to day life across the seasons and yet, their apparent abduction of some heinous wolf had sought to cause the opposite from him. He had heard of the wolf's violation of one of their members - one of Aithne's most trusted at that - and though he had been inclined to tear such a cretin apart with blatant savagery, he had found himself... well, elsewhere. In fact, he had been stationed alongside Denali almost without knowing it. Wherever she had gone, he had followed or lead, all too eager to keep her far, far away from their temporary omega. He had found himself wondering, however, just how much of an omega the stranger might have been - was he permitted to chew him open? To decimate him so that he'd never be able to even lay his eyes upon Denali? It seemed, perhaps, that her encounter with Kaius had left its own scars upon him in one way or another. Nonetheless, it had kept him busy. It had kept him hunting and patrolling, skirting along the borders of not only Iromar but his personal abode too. It had kept him on edge and yet, finally it seemed, reprieve had been offered.

The wolf, seemingly, had become less active within the swamp. His scent no longer clung to the air like the very mist and so, Astaroth had been inclined to allow Denali her own personal space. Besides, it'd do him well too. He had always feared becoming like his father. Even he could recognize the uncanny resemblance there.

The storm had come in so soon, it seemed, and he had not the patience nor the dedication to find himself shelter. He had thick enough fur, he reasoned, that the water do little to chill him; still, it created thick plumes of mist from the warm bogs, stirring their stench and waking the 'gators. It put him on edge as he ambled through the territory, his nose to the earth in a desperate attempt to locate some kind of food. It was not so much that he had grown hungry, more so that he had grown... bored, he supposed. He had kept so much agitation within himself that he simply wanted to tear something apart. It had never occurred to him that he had been tracking anything other than some lost musk rat from the outskirts. After all, there was a foreign scent there. Familiar yet too... washed out and forgotten to truly capture.

Still, he followed. He followed as the ground turned to mush, his weight pushing through the thick reeds and mud as his eyes begun to adjust to the terrain around him. The rain had become so heavy and it took him some time before it begun to dawn on him where he had come; his father's domain. He had avoided the place since his father's death. Its entirety reminded him too strongly of the things he did not wish to remember so much. It reminded him, too, of his inability to make his father's blood something worthy - he had been a failure of a Demon, it seemed, since his birth. He had been born with the body and the markings and yet, he had never obtained the same drive as either parent.

The realization had made him pause entirely, a shadow suddenly stricken with the inability to move. He held his breath, his eyes slowly becoming used to the pale bones that littered the mud and dirt. It was only then that they settled on movement; subtle but there. It made him recoil slightly before he stepped forward, reaching out with his muzzle to garnish a better look. It was when his eyes noted the crimson mark that he shot back several paces, a snarl of confusion escaping his mouth as he did so. It took him a split moment to compose himself, having fallen back into a defensive position, before he uttered a single word - "Mother?" It rung with question, with confusion, with a dire need to know. He had been sure she had been dead. Yet, she had... begun to rise from the mud, it seemed.