He had not meant to return, not entirely at least. Part of him had desired the familiarity of a home he had known since birth and yet, another part had desired something entirely new, entirely different. He had stopped understanding desire, though. After all, they had changed so much and those he had thought to be so strong had failed in their permanency. Where was she now, after all? Lost to the winds of time like the shorelines of a home he had failed. She had been his entire world for so long and yet, that had failed. So, why should he trust the desire for something new? He had no doubt that'd fail him, too. He didn't know if he could keep failing. How many times could he stand back up before he just had to accept that he belonged laying down? He didn't really want to test the limit and so, he had given in to the unspoken need to return somewhere he knew.

For some time, he had lingered in the far outskirts of Moladion. He had drifted through the haze of uncertainty and melancholy. Some days, he'd awaken to a pheasant at the mouth of his den, seemingly stricken from some sudden death. Other times, a rat, or a hare. It seemed some outside force insisted that he remain alive and so, he did that much at least. He did his best to regain the strength in his back leg, though he now moved with the hint of a hobble. He did his best to regain his weight and return his fur to its former glory, a wild mane of white and crimson. Something had changed inside him and yet, he didn't know what. He simply knew that he had been offered some kind of new start in an old place. He had to take it. He owed that to whoever, or whatever, had kept him alive all this time.

Of course, he could not return to Glorall. He had not even entertained the idea, dismissing the thought entirely. Instead, he moved immediately towards where he had been last - it felt right to start from where he had ended, after all. Iromar. He had begun there, too. Like a cyclical pattern, it seemed he was drawn back to the ghost of his mother's failures, though his own now lingered in the mist and sands of Moladion. He did his best to ignore such thoughts as he moved to the outskirts of the swamp, its expanse now cold and frozen as the marshes seemed alive with mist and steam. He stared into it, remembering the intricate paths and its inner workings. At least, he supposed, those memories were still good. He could remember, at least, spending his youth there. He simply had to try to forget the shadow that seemed to follow him through those memories.

He released a call then, slow and almost mournful, as he passed into the marshes. He knew he'd been given entrance before and so, he worked on instinct. Besides, it did not particularly matter if they took a bite from him. He likely deserved it for abandoning his children; he wouldn't fault them. Still, he wanted to see them. Praetor's scent still lingered in the air beside their queen's and so, he did his best to follow it through the reeds. Unknown to him, it had lead him to Aithne, however, as he caught sight of her dark form ahead of him. He had come from her side, toeing the waterline as he paused some distance away. He watched her in silence for a moment, observing the way she stared into the water, her mind seemingly elsewhere. Slowly, he rose to speak, his voice breaking the otherworldly silence of the winter bog. "Aithne?" He kept it simple.

He paused, silent again, as he swallowed a lump of nerves in his throat. It felt foolish to be so nervous and yet, instinct dictated it. "I'm sorry. I had to come." He offered the explanation, at least, his brows furrowed as he attempted to discern just why he had done so. It couldn't be coincidence that he had followed his son's scent to her. Perhaps this was another outside force trying its best to set things right.